


Genesis

by Irony_Rocks



Series: Coyote SGA [1]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-15
Updated: 2006-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 21:57:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 36,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13984134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irony_Rocks/pseuds/Irony_Rocks
Summary: John Sheppard may have been LAPD once upon a time, but he’d been a homicide detective, not an undercover cop. The two felons, Teyla Emmagan and Ronon Dex, were as likely to spit on Elizabeth as support her. And then there was Rodney McKay, who defied categorization altogether. She knew how this job looked to outsiders, but Hammond had given the go-ahead and Elizabeth was going to make it work.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Importing old [Coyote_SGA fits](https://coyote-sga.livejournal.com) from livejournal. Mutant AU.

\--  
  
“Are you sure about this team? You’ve got a washed-up former cop, two criminals with rap sheets longer than my arm and a certifiable mad scientist on this list.” From the tone of his voice and the steel in his eye, she could tell that Hammond wasn’t amused. “Am I reading this correctly, Agent Weir?”  
  
Elizabeth cleared her throat and straightened the set of her shoulders. “Yes, sir, you are. Their reputations certainly precede them, I’ll grant you. But that is precisely why we want them – no one would ever suspect that they work for us.”  
  
The rest of room responded to her defense with a similar level of enthusiasm as had Hammond, but then again, Elizabeth hadn’t expected otherwise. The mood of the briefing was becoming slightly uncomfortable and claustrophobic, what with all the cold looks and distrustful stares aimed in her direction. As if it wasn’t bad enough that she was the lone female FBI agent on this assignment, the majority of her section were also at least a decade her senior. But even more important was the fact that none of them were mutants. Those were three strikes against her, and she had little doubt that the score had probably been tallied long before she even arrived.   
  
Her partner of four years, Cameron Mitchell, was the lone friendly face. He offered a brief nod of encouragement, but it did almost nothing to comfort her.   
  
Hammond leaned back in his chair, hands clasped in front of him. “What makes you so confident that these people can do the job?”  
  
“People?” Dillon Everett cut in snidely. “Is that what we’re calling them now?”  
  
Elizabeth slid her gaze to him. “What would you like to call them?”  
  
She heard someone in the back of the room mutter _freaks_ , but other than a few muted chuckles from some low-level officers, no one dared to address Elizabeth’s question directly. Not even Everett, who appeared to belatedly remember that her classification code rated her his senior. Her Special Agent status was atypical, for more than one reason. She’d been through a crash course of four years training in a little under a year and a half, spoke six different languages, specialized in criminal psychology, and had leapfrogged over more than three-fourths of the men in this room for promotions. That apparently allowed her some respect from her peers, at least when confronting her face-to-face. She was sure the discussions that occurred without her in the room were much more interesting.  
  
Still, when people spoke of her they generally remembered only one key fact: she was the FBI’s pet telepath, a one-woman freak show running the thankless job of the Mutant Division. On a good day that title would garner only whispers, disdain and the occasional cold shoulder from one of her co-workers. Those were the good days – the days where she could quietly slip into her little corner of the basement floor of the J. Edger Hoover building and do her job to the best of her abilities.  
  
Today she faced a room full of her peers in an attempt to win support for an admittedly unconventional plan. And it didn’t help that even now, after all of these years, she still had difficulty concentrating in a crowded room. Her control over her telepathy was one of the best any mutant had yet achieved, but even so she’d be suffering the harsh effects of a migraine headache for the rest of the day.   
  
Everett smiled, though his naturally sour disposition made it look like a sneer. “Forgive me, but I forgot the politically correct terminology. What is it that you people like to be called nowadays?”  
  
“That’s enough,” Hammond cut in, slanting Everett an annoyed look.   
  
He turned back to Elizabeth, flipping open the first of the files and briefly studied its contents – the dossier of a former detective of the LAPD, John Sheppard. Most regarded him as a washed-up cop, one that had been run out of his precinct the moment his mutations started developing in the early months of ‘96.   
  
The mutant outbreak that occurred in the late nineties had caught everyone by surprise, and unfortunately for Mr. Sheppard, he’d been one of the first to feel the effects of the mass paranoia that had grabbed hold of the general public. Though he may have been easy on the eyes, his case history wasn’t.  
  
“Why these particular people?” Hammond pressed her.   
  
“Sir, I’ve reviewed over three hundred and eighty candidates. My instincts tell me that these four are the ones that we need.”  
  
“Your instincts?” Everett tilted his head and affected a curious expression. “Is that your gut talking, or your . . . _abilities?_ ”  
  
Though tempting, Elizabeth refused to allow herself to be flustered by such an insufferable little twit. She paused briefly and smiled. “A little of both actually.” She turned her attention back to Hammond. “If you’ll review their files, sir, –”  
  
“I already have.” Hammond picked up the next two files and spread their contents across the table. “Several times actually. What I’ve seen doesn’t impress me.”  
  
The photographs of the two criminals she’d proposed caught Elizabeth’s attention. She’d spent hours staring at those pictures, and there was just something about them – she felt like she already knew Teyla Emmagan and Ronon Dex, connected with them on a level that wasn’t quite instinct or gut reaction, but something much more complicated. For this to work, she knew she needed them the same way she knew that the sun was going to rise tomorrow morning.   
  
Still, she couldn’t sell them on her word alone.  
  
Despite their skills, both natural and supernatural, they’d both ended up in the custody of the law more than a dozen times. Their lists of federal offenses and misdemeanors varied from petty theft to armed robbery. But they’d never remained in custody for long, usually because they’d proven impossible to detain.  
  
Hammond was starting to gather steam. “And the worst of it, these two aren’t my main concern. You actually have Dr. Rodney McKay listed here.”  
  
Elizabeth nodded, resisting the urge to flinch at his tone. “Yes, I know.”  
  
The dubious looks of the room’s occupants were more open now, flitting back and forth across the table, and the sudden onslaught of cohesive thought almost overwhelmed her telepathy for a moment. Everyone was in agreement when it came to the infamous Rodney McKay: he was the worst kind of no-good. No one would ever forget the man that had unleashed a radioactive substance onto the unsuspecting population of Los Angeles. It didn’t matter that there had been “mitigating circumstances.” He was the man responsible for the resulting mutations that had left nearly one-eighth of the population of southern California suffering from freakish abilities and mutations.  
  
Elizabeth knew more of the story than most and even she had trouble reconciling herself with the thought of working with McKay. In another lifetime, without this man’s presence, she would have gone on to lead an average life. She could barely remember what such normalcy would feel like now, thanks to her telepathy. He was the reason her world had been shaken into an unrecognizable heap of madness a little over a decade ago.   
  
Everett smiled, and without even reading his thoughts she knew he could sense her vulnerability when it came to this man. As copies of Rodney McKay’s file passed around the table, she knew he was building up to strike out against her and, damn it, she couldn’t think of anything to say to curtail it.  
  
She used to be better at this, better at dealing with people and articulating words into her weapon of choice. She even used to be on the fast track to international politics, but that was before her abilities developed. Before four years in a mental institution and a thousand voices in her head had left her suffering from a severe case of social phobia. Now she could barely even remember the proper etiquette of saying hello to people as they passed by in the hallway.  
  
“You’re awfully quiet, Doctor Weir.” Suspicion and a hint of anger darkened Everett’s eyes. “Are you trying to read our minds right now?”  
  
Elizabeth struggled to keep her resentment in check. “I have control over my abilities now. I only read people’s thoughts when I try to.”  
  
“My question still stands.”  
  
 _Motherfucker,_ Cameron thought from across the room. When she glanced at him out of reflex, Cameron looked like he wanted to say something. Actually he looked like he wanted to reach across the table and grab Everett by the necktie, but she knew that he wouldn’t. It had been made abundantly clear that he was to keep his mouth firmly shut. This briefing was her show, a solo stint to see if she could measure up before her peers. It was a test.   
  
She was already failing miserably.   
  
Elizabeth turned back to Hammond and chose to ignore Everett completely. “Sir,” she began, “these four individuals may look like they aren’t agent material, but I can assure you that they are going to be key figures if we plan on infiltrating the Genii organization with any sort of effectiveness. You want that terrorist group taken down once and for all? Then the way to get our foot in the door is to use people they would trust, people that are some of their own – specifically mutants. There’s no other way.”  
  
Hammond nodded. “I agree with you on principal, but are these really the ones you want on your team?”   
  
Elizabeth didn’t bat an eye. “Yes, sir. I can’t explain how, but I know it.”  
  
“Of course you can’t explain how,” Everett cut in. “We’re just supposed to trust your voodoo and let that be it?”  
  
“My voodoo,” Elizabeth replied, her voice ice-cold, “is what you brought me here for. Seems to me you shouldn’t so blithely undercut its uses.”  
  
“Alright,” Hammond said, leveling both of them with a glare. “That’s enough.”  
  
He turned back to Elizabeth with a sigh and settled in his chair as he considered the situation. His approval would be the definitive stamp on this entire operation. Lucky for Elizabeth, George had always remained one of her staunchest allies – even if he maintained a reticent distance from her personally. She freaked him out, she knew, but at least he didn’t let it prevent him from respecting and trusting her judgment.  
  
Elizabeth briefly considered using her abilities on Hammond, but she dismissed the temptation as quickly as it came. She never invaded another person’s mind unless she had to, and even then she felt guilty about it.   
  
Cameron was the only one that offered her a free-access pass to his thoughts whenever she wanted, and that was only because they had been lovers for nearly two years _before_. They weren’t together now – it was too complicated – but there was very little about Cam that she didn’t know. If the saying _“A friend is someone who knows all about you, and loves you just the same”_ was ever true, then Cameron Mitchell was the closest friend Elizabeth had ever had.   
  
Hammond appraised her carefully. “Tell me again about their abilities. Tell me about what they’ve done. You have the remainder of this meeting to convince me.”  
  
“And if I do, sir?”  
  
“Then you’ll round them up. I want this operation underfoot within the week, and you know _exactly_ why.”  
  
She nodded and glanced down at the files, though the gesture was unnecessary. She’d already memorized them a hundred times over. But she used the time to collect herself. Somewhere inside of her were those verbal skills she’d mastered so long ago. And she’d need every one of them today.  
  
John Sheppard was first. The initial picture attached to the file was ordinary, showcasing an average man whose only distinct attributes were perhaps his strikingly handsome features. The second picture was rather more unsettling. With bluish-grey reptilian skin, his face and body had been transformed into something clearly inhuman. His eyes in particular captured Elizabeth’s attention with their strangely olive green tint, flecks of yellow and oblong iris. They radiated something utterly alien and flat, so incredibly, indescribably hostile that they gave her chills – even through the still frame captured by camera.   
  
Sheppard’s mutation was the ability to transform into this reptilian version of himself, though his history proved that the transformations weren’t _always_ under his control. And the changes weren’t just physical. His psychological profile showcased more than a few incidents of extreme violence inflicted by his alter ego – he was quite literally Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde personified. Still, much like most other mutants in the past decade, Sheppard had slowly learned control and restraint.   
  
His reptilian persona exhibited remarkable speed, strength, and regenerative abilities. Although she didn’t quite yet know how, she was certain that those abilities were necessary for this operation.  
  
Teyla Emmagan, a dark skinned beauty that emigrated from South Africa at the age of seven, was next. Her powers’ advantages were easier to pinpoint: she could manipulate solid objects around her, making any item malleable under her touch. The extent of her ability even allowed her to walk through solid objects.   
  
That particular skill had proven useful in her chosen line of work. Teyla Emmagan was considered one-half of a tag team of thieves that had successfully worked a large portion of California’s coastline cities. From bank robberies to jewel heists, she was credited with many of the most infamous and daring robberies in recent history.   
  
Few charges ever stuck, and those that did were generally meaningless for all practical purposes. She had served three days of a six year sentence in the female correctional facility in San Bernardino before simply walking through eight reinforced walls (not to mention security). Her status as a wanted fugitive was more décor than anything. According to the Los Angeles Mutant Division the whereabouts of Teyla Emmagan and her partner were well known. It had simply been impossible to catch them.   
  
Her dubious partner-in-crime was actually her maternal cousin, a former marine by the name of Ronon Dex. The picture accompanying his profile bore the image of a man whose size and build was massive, but that was merely the tip of the iceberg of his true strength. The man’s brute force, animalistic behavior and sheer speed were nearly unimaginable. She’d seen footage of him bending bars of steel with his bare hands. For reasons passing comprehension, though, the nickname of _the Runner_ had stuck with him.   
  
His offenses were far more violent than his cousin’s, and his history of assault and battery charges predated his mutations. Until the early nineties, well before the radioactive spill, Ronon Dex had served proudly with the Marine Corps during the first Gulf War. But a mysterious black mark on his previously flawless record had resulted in a dishonorable discharge. Elizabeth wasn’t privy to the precise details, but she knew enough.   
  
Last but not least was Dr. Rodney McKay, a man who suffered from the effects of his own making. He’d been at ground zero when the toxic spill had occurred, so it wasn’t surprising that he had been one of the first to develop abnormalities. His skill was rather unique and powerful, even when compared to other mutants. He had the ability to manipulate water molecules, a talent that had far reaching effects on a vast number of things.   
  
He currently lived on the open seas off the coast of California. The eccentric genius had isolated himself from the public after the spill, justifiably fearing the retaliation and anger of the masses. Though he’d been officially cleared of any illegal actions by the government and the state of California, the stain of what he had done followed him. He was, quite possibly, one of the most reviled men in the world.  
  
Each one of these four individuals had a troubling history that made them the last choice for an elite FBI team. Still, Elizabeth was certain that they were the only ones who could succeed.   
  
Whether they knew it or not, Elizabeth did: the fate of a nation rested on them.  
  
\--


	2. Chapter 2

\--  
  
“California, here we come. Right back where we started from.”  
  
Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder at Cameron and refrained from rolling her eyes – but just barely. She wandered further down the narrow aisle of the plane and settled her carry-on bag onto the first of their seats. Third class yet again. The perks of government work had always been few and far between.  
  
"Remind me again why I took this job?"  
  
"The shinny badge?" Cameron offered as he quickly came up behind her. "The comfy twelve hour work days? The alluring chance to thwart nefarious evil?"  
  
"Nefarious and evil are synonyms."  
  
"Done for emphasis."  
  
He lifted his luggage into the overhead compartment as Elizabeth quietly slid in and settled into the window seat. She may have been nearly the same height as Cameron, but the man would complain endlessly if he was forced into a position where he couldn’t spread his long legs down the aisle. The flight from Washington D.C. to Los Angeles was going to be over seven hours as it was. She wasn’t looking to have to repress any homicidal urges against her partner during that time.  
  
Cameron lifted her bag up next and stowed it. “Hey, did you bring anything to read?” Elizabeth arched an eyebrow and retrieved several files from her briefcase, pulling them onto her lap with a grin. Cameron groaned. “Dear God, woman, what could possibly be written in those files that you haven’t read nearly a hundred times by now?”  
  
“It never hurts to be prepared, Cam.”  
  
He rolled his eyes as he eased into the seat next to her. “Prepared is one thing. Anal and obsessive are another.”  
  
Her grin only widened in response.  
  
As the rest of the passengers continued to fill the plane, Elizabeth settled in with a stack of folders on one side and a fresh glass of orange juice on the other. Cameron knew better than to needle her too much, at least this early in the trip – just as Elizabeth knew that a few hours in there would be little stopping him from striking up a dozen inane conversations to stave off boredom. The routine of traveling was familiar to both of them. They’d been on over a thousand trips in their career together, traveling from one place to another in search of mutants that more often than not turned out to be trouble.  
  
“How much longer ‘till we lift off?”  
  
“Another twenty-two minutes.” Elizabeth answered automatically, glancing out the window. “The captain will announce it then.”  
  
Cameron knew this wasn't a guess or an estimate.  
  
One of the byproducts of Elizabeth’s abilities was that it heightened her awareness of everything that surrounded her. She could almost picture the pilots in the cockpit reviewing the last of their pre-flight checks. In the back of the plane, Elizabeth was acutely aware of the two stewardesses gossiping about the cute passenger in 7D and the two children in the 43rd row who were already arguing over whose turn it was to play the Game Boy. Her mind drifted over the faces of the newly married couple practically necking in the First Class cabin and the short Asian woman two seats ahead that was attempting but failing to stave off a severe phobia of flying. In any given minute, if she concentrated hard enough, Elizabeth could pick up on more than a dozen different events and stray thoughts.  
  
It oftentimes gave her a headache, but her years of experience allowed her a measure of control that she was unable to maintain in the beginning. Through a decade of trial and error, Elizabeth had wrestled back control of her mind because, quite frankly, her sanity had depended on it. Still, crowded areas taxed her mentally. She sighed and began rubbing her temples to ward off the beginnings of a migraine. She saw Cameron glance at her from the corner of her eye and a moment later a bottle of Tylenol slid onto her tray.  
  
She glanced up at him and smiled. “Am I really becoming that predicable?”  
  
He shrugged. “You were being awfully quiet.”  
  
She glanced away when a stewardess came by and refilled their drinks. When she left Elizabeth swallowed the pill and waited for Cameron to finally ask the question he'd been thinking for the last thirty minutes.  
  
“So, you want to talk about it?”  
  
“Talk about what?”  
  
Cameron smirked, taking a sip from his glass. “Seriously, babe, playing ignorant doesn’t work for you. If you want to talk about it–”  
  
“It’s been years, Cameron,” Elizabeth cut in. “Los Angeles was home to me once, but that was a long time ago. I’m not going home to visit family. I’m just going there to do my job. It really is as simple as that.”  
  
He held up his hands in surrender. “Okay. Okay. I was just wondering. You haven't seen your brother in a long time--”  
  
“Daniel's been busy, and so have I,” she replied succinctly. “And, while I appreciate your concern, don’t you think we have bigger problems to deal with right now?”  
  
That did the trick. Cameron was laid back about many things, but he’d always been nearly as obsessive about their work as she was. He was just better at hiding it. And their current case was well out of their realm of ordinary, which was saying quite a bit based on the normally extraordinary nature of their work. This wasn’t a routine case; they weren’t simply out to find and hunt down a criminal element of the mutant population.  
  
Save for California (which had its own mutant task force located in L.A. – a necessity due to the state housing over three-fourths of the nation’s mutant population), Elizabeth and Cameron had made their careers discovering and apprehending dangerous mutants from nearly every corner of the United States. In many ways they were glorified bounty hunters.  
  
This case, though, was different. It required undercover work (for Elizabeth, anyway) with four mutants who had no previous experience in the field. John Sheppard may have been LAPD once upon a time, but he’d been a homicide detective, not an undercover cop. The two criminals, Teyla Emmagan and Ronon Dex, were as likely to spit on Elizabeth as support her. And then there was Rodney McKay, who defied categorization altogether. She knew how this job looked to outsiders, but Hammond had given the go-ahead and she was going to make it work.  
  
After all, achieving the goal was well worth the risk. The Genii Organization needed to be taken down. Only a select group of highly powerful people were aware of the ticking time bomb looming over some as of yet unidentified part of America. The militant mutants that comprised the organization had a brand of terrorism all their own, one that was whispered to be preparing for a large scale national threat that would occur sometime within the next six months. No one knew the precise timing, location or details, but the higher-ups were taking the threat seriously.  
  
Elizabeth and Cameron had been brought into the loop only two weeks ago, a brazen last ditch effort to infiltrate the Genii Organization with some of their own – mutants. Elizabeth was the lead and Cameron, a non-mutant, was to act as their handler. He was still pissed about that--  
  
“ _This is your captain speaking. We’re about to lift off, so I’d like everyone to return to their seats, fasten their seatbelts, and please place their trays in the full upright and locked position. Flight attendants, please prepare for take-off._ ”  
  
Cameron glanced down at his watch and then up at her with a grin. “You’re freaky sometimes, you know that?”  
  
Elizabeth smirked as the plane started to move.  
  
\--  
  
From a cursory look, it appeared as though California hadn't changed one bit. Still as bright and beautiful as it ever was, Elizabeth took a deep breath, shed her jacket and slipped on a pair of sunglasses before stepping outside and into the crowd. Before they could make it to the line of cabs they were greeted by a tall, muscular African-American man baring a gold brand on his forehead. He flashed a _California Mutant Division_ badge to identify himself, but Elizabeth found that she was more intrigued by the symbol he bore. The marking would have felt out of place in most US cities, but here it was a familiar sight – clearly labeling the wearer as a mutant.  
  
"Teal'c," he offered solemnly, and Cameron raised an eyebrow.  
  
Though she was unfamiliar with this particular symbol, it was easy for Elizabeth to guess that he wore his mutant status with pride and honor. He may have even been a member of the local faction of Jaffa. The self-proclaimed Jaffa Nation was a powerful political organization that wielded significant influence on localized topics. Their main purpose was to protect the minority rights of mutants in California. Their members were known to brand themselves with various signs, a homage to the brands Jews wore during the Holocaust. The sentiment was intense – by voluntarily marking themselves each made a clear statement that they were unafraid of persecution and unwilling to hide for the sake of acceptance.  
  
The entire world had changed when mutants had first emerged in California, from international politics, to science, to religious beliefs. Everything had been affected.  
  
In any other place in the US, if you were a mutant you were so rare that people usually referred to you as “the one.” Here in the Sunshine State you were just “one of them.” The mutant population made up a sizable chunk of the community, especially in Los Angeles. With numbers came solidarity, and a byproduct of that was relief from much of the harassment that was suffered in other areas. She imagined that Teal'c probably wasn't the first mutant they'd run across since stepping off the plane, although he certainly was the most noticeable.  
  
“Assistant Director Caldwell is waiting for you,” Teal'c informed them, ushering the pair into a dark sedan parked in front of the terminal. “Welcome to Los Angeles.”  
  
Elizabeth lingered outside the car for a moment. _Welcome home,_ she thought instead.  
  
The car ride was painfully quiet. Teal'c was apparently the strong, silent type, and as much as Cameron tried to needle the man into a conversation, he proved to be as impenetrable as a rock.  
  
She hadn't been expecting a warm welcome from the local branch of the MD. Elizabeth and Cameron had essentially been brought in to step on their toes, and while she had heard good things about the head of the California division, Assistant Director Caldwell, she was preparing herself for the worst.  
  
Hammond had been forced to make noise and rattle cages to get them assigned to this job (because, as Cameron had once bluntly put it, they'd be damn hard pressed to find a unit out there better at doing what they did), but that left a lot of room for fallout within the ranks. The added headache of jurisdictional conflict and bruised egos wasn't going make the job any easier. She was well aware that they were going to be under intense scrutiny by the locals. As if the pressure wasn’t already high enough.  
  
When they finally arrived at the Federal Building they were guided into a large conference room where it looked as though the meeting was waiting for them. After a brief greeting from a host of agents, half of whom Elizabeth could easily pick out as mutants themselves, they were introduced to the man seated at the head of the table. Of average appearance, with balding hair, a lean body, and glasses perched on his hard-edged nose, Stephen Caldwell proved to be just what she was expecting: capable, poised, and pissed as hell. The meeting was perfunctory, set up for introductions and to confirm what Elizabeth already knew – that they had full resource of the state available to them and that they were to be given anything they requested.  
  
It didn’t require a mind reader to hear the silent _fuck you_ Caldwell was thinking throughout the briefing. While he projected an air of nothing more than a consummate professional rendering service, the sting of losing jurisdiction over his own dominion had most certainly put him in a foul mood. Truthfully though, Elizabeth was pressed with other concerns.  
  
Forty minutes after they had entered the building they were leaving it again, this time in a car of their own. Their destination was a quiet town a few hours up the coast, a place called Ocean Harbor.  
  
It was finally time to start recruiting.  
  
\--  
  
John Sheppard owned and operated a small business on the coast, a private company that chartered planes in and around the town of Ocean Harbor. Elizabeth prided herself on being prepared, and her research in this case had uncovered that both rumor and tax records showed the business on the verge of bankruptcy. Even knowing this, when she surveyed the small landing strip she saw little more than a long paved road alongside some open grassland. Removing her sunglasses, she sighed and made her way to the only building in sight.  
  
An old, rusty hanger housed one dilapidated plane. Cameron didn’t bother knocking as he entered first, as the lone door hung awkwardly off its hinges. As Elizabeth followed, she discovered that the plane itself was also small, a light-weight aircraft that could hold only the pilot and one passenger in the cockpit. Across the side the name "Puddle-Jumper" was written in yellow calligraphy, but the paint had faded so badly it was barely visible.  
  
She wondered if it could even fly.  
  
“Wow,” Cameron’s eyes lit up and his smile was practically glowing, “haven’t seen one of these babies in a while.”  
  
Elizabeth slanted him a glance, well aware that his inner-pilot was bubbling to the surface. Before Cameron had joined the FBI he had served several years with the Air Force until his F-16 was shot down over Iraq during the first Gulf War. He'd been so badly injured that he’d required significant physical therapy just to relearn how to walk. He’d been honorably discharged shortly thereafter.  
  
Elizabeth remembered those days clearly. That was when they were together - an item - and the entire ordeal had nearly broken their relationship apart. He'd been so stubborn in remaining independent, and she'd been so frustrated with being unable to help him. Ironically, they’d managed to pull through that rough patch only to break up a year later over something far more trivial.  
  
Still, Elizabeth got a queasy feeling every time she saw Cameron standing in front of anything that had wings, his face lit up exactly like it was now. The memories of his injuries remained fresh and stark in her mind even after so much time had passed, but Cameron's own passion for flying had never faded. That was a pilot for you. God help her, but she'd never understand that type of mentality, even with mind-reading.  
  
Cameron continued to approach the plane and ran a loving hand across its hull. “You're looking at a bona fide Cessna 177 Cardinal. I thought they stopped producing them back in early eighties.”  
  
“They did,” an unfamiliar voice supplied. Elizabeth and Cameron glanced around in surprise; they hadn’t seen anyone when they entered. In an attempt to pinpoint the source of the comment, Elizabeth crouched down low to peer under the plane. There she discovered the legs of a man who, from what she could tell, was working on some portion of it from underneath. What little she could see of him was completely covered in grease and grime. He made his way slowly around the tail of the plane, wiping his hands on a small towel. His baggy grease-sodden overalls belied a thin build, almost lanky. Still, he had classically handsome features that sharply contrasted to his present state of dress and unruly hair.  
  
He glanced at Elizabeth, his hazel eyes assessing her briefly before straying to Cameron. “This is the last one they ever made. You looking to book a plane?”  
  
Cameron took a step forward. “You John Sheppard?”  
  
“That's the rumor.”  
  
Elizabeth withdrew her badge from her belt and held it toward Sheppard. “I’m Special Agent Weir, this is Special Agent Mitchell. We were hoping to speak—“  
  
“Mutant Division,” Sheppard cut in, eyes narrowing as looked her over again, this time with obvious suspicion. The reaction was familiar and entirely expected. Few mutants reacted well to their presence, and John Sheppard had better reason than most.  
  
“Sorry, I'm busy right now,” he nodded toward the door in dismissal and Elizabeth could feel him erecting mental barriers, “but feel free to come back when I’m not around.”  
  
When Sheppard pivoted and began to walk back around the plane, Elizabeth shot a pointed look toward her partner who nodded his agreement. With a sigh, Cameron made his way to the door and didn’t look back.  
  
John heard the retreating footsteps and turned to find Elizabeth looking at him intently. He indicated the direction Cameron had gone. “Looks like your ride’s leaving.”  
  
She arched an eyebrow and glanced speculatively at his plane. “I was looking for another one anyway.”  
  
He faltered for a moment and Elizabeth knew she had him. His financial troubles wouldn't let him pass up a fare. By the look of his facility she guessed that he hadn’t had much work recently.  
  
“It'll cost you three grand for the day.”  
  
On any other day, she’d pay three thousand dollars to avoid spending time in that monstrosity. “Do you charter by the hour?”  
  
“Sure.” He nodded agreeably. “It'll cost you roughly . . .” he tilted his head and made a show of considering it, “three grand per hour.”  
  
She’d been expecting that. One of the few benefits of her telepathy was that it made difficult mutants slightly more manageable – she could anticipate what was coming even when the subject thought he was being cute and clever. Well, clever anyway. She'd give Sheppard cute.  
  
Still, she looked appropriately annoyed. “That's ridiculous.”  
  
“Hey,” he shrugged, “take it or leave it.”  
  
Elizabeth took a long moment to look him up and down and then began to walk the length of the plane, the click from the heels of her designer shoes echoing through the small, dark hanger. Her short inspection left much to be desired and for a moment she considered skipping the one-on-one chat and playing hardball instead. But the truth was that they didn't have time for that. She needed John Sheppard's ear and she needed it now.  
  
She came to a halt in front of him. “Does it even fly?”  
  
He feigned offense. “Well, there's really only one way to find out.”  
  
She took a deep breath and spared a fleeting glance toward Cameron and the car. Too late to chicken out now, she supposed. “Do you take credit cards?”  
  
\--  
  
“So, Agent Weir,” John began, his voice muffled by the headphones, “do you have a first name, or does the FBI frown upon that type of thing nowadays?”  
  
“It’s Elizabeth,” she replied distractedly, forcing her fingers to release their vice grip on the armrest. She peered out the window to assess their location, taking note that they were cruising at a high rate of speed in an aircraft she didn’t fully trust. John appeared to be a confident pilot, but that fact alone did little to comfort her. She had a feeling that not a lot rattled him – potentially even things that should. When she glanced back she caught him scrutinizing her carefully. “What?”  
  
For once, he looked at her with something other than suspicion. “Are you afraid of fly?”  
  
“Not of flying specifically,” she replied, trying to relax. “Just the potential that it creates for falling from ridiculous heights.”  
  
He rolled his eyes. “I’m the best pilot you’ll meet. You don’t have to worry.”  
  
“I suppose I can do nothing but take your word on that?”  
  
“I suppose so.” He shrugged, a devilish smile lighting his face. “So, does that mean you paid three thousand dollars just for my pleasant company?” He sounded pleased with himself, and the twinkle in his eye brought to mind every cocky pilot cliché she could think of.  
  
She released a forceful breath, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “I’m vaguely horrified by the thought, but yes.” Her tone was entirely serious, “We needed to talk.”  
  
“Ah,” he drawled, sarcasm dripping from his voice, “the words every man wants to hear from a pretty federal task force agent.” Turning back to his instruments he sent the plane into a slow dive, causing her stomach to roll unpleasantly. At her low groan he looked over, worried. “Hey, you really don’t like flying, do you? You alright? You look pale.”  
  
She swallowed hard and ignored the question, looking instead out to the cloudless horizon. “The government wants you for a job,” she stated without preamble, trying to refocus the conversation, “and they’ll pay you well for it. If you’re a smart man you’ll take an opportunity like this when it’s offered to you.”  
  
“Well, who says I’m a smart man?” John drawled, but the joke fell flat when Elizabeth closed her eyes to battle back another wave of nausea. “Whoa. Hey. You need a paper bag or something?”  
  
“No, I’m fine. Just give me a moment.”  
  
He didn’t press her, but she could still feel his attention focused on her. She’d prefer if he kept it on the skies. When she finally pried her eyes open she could see him surreptitiously watching her from across the console. “Careful, Sheppard, you starting to look concerned over a MD agent.”  
  
He blinked and snapped his eyes away. “What do you want from me?”  
  
“We want your help with a case,” she answered evenly. “Unfortunately the details are classified until you commit. All I can tell you right now is that it’s important.”  
  
He barked a laugh. “Are you serious?”  
  
“It’s classified,” she repeated. “My goal here is to recruit you. Until you’ve signed the non-disclosure papers, I can’t tell you any of the particulars – what you’ll be doing or why. I’m only authorized to make the offer and explain the proposed remuneration. The government is willing to make good on the reparations owed to you from the past and then some.”  
  
The corners of his mouth twitch upward, but his expression offered no trace of humor. “Is that so? My severance pay? My medical bills? My, uh, what do you call it, 401(k)? They’re willing to actually start paying the mutant back for his work?”  
  
The bitterness, she conceded, was well deserved. The moment he’d shown the first symptoms of mutation, the government had neatly kicked him off the force with a swift boot to the ass. Many had nearly ended up on the streets during those first few months after the exposure, left with no resources or support. Businesses fired them and the administrative government turned a deaf ear to their cries of discrimination. Medical insurances were denied, severances were revoked, and over a million and a half people were left to fend for themselves.  
  
Elizabeth had spent much of that time tucked away in a mental institution, the beginning of a hellish four year stint of cowering under beds and against white walls as voices threatened to shred every bit of her sanity. Some had suffered more than others, but each bore the anger and confusion of that time in their own way. John Sheppard was no exception.  
  
“So,” he continued with a touch of dark humor, “they finally want to pay me for my . . . how did they put it once upon a time? Oh yes, my _invaluable_ services to my country. I believe that’s what most people call irony.”  
  
“Don’t worry,” she twisted in her seat to look at him, “I’m not going ask you to do this for patriotism.”  
  
“Good, because if you’re looking for tall, dark and patriotic, I’m afraid you left him in the car.” He glanced at her, eyes shaded by dark sunglasses. The flirtatious flyboy was back. “Perhaps your partner—”  
  
“We’re willing to pay,” she cut him off. She wasn’t prepared to explore the implications of her relationship with Cameron, especially with this man who was a veritable stranger. Though generally modest by nature, Elizabeth was well aware when a man was preparing to hit on her – even before the benefit of her abilities. Sheppard was clearly unflappable, and had an ego to boot. She slipped into her professional tone, “Or do you want me to recite my ‘service to your country’ speech. I’m actually quite good at it.”  
  
He raised a hand in mock surrender. “No need. I’ll behave.”  
  
She highly doubted that.  
  
The conversation paused when John’s attention was drawn back to his flying. Elizabeth took the opportunity to study him more carefully. She wondered if the changes wrought by his mutation were deeper than she had anticipated. There had to be something more than the careful façade he had built around him. Patriotism was something that used to mean something to him, she was sure. He was the type of man who would have fought for the intangibles – not for the money or for the fame, but because taking up the cause was the right thing to do. Well, she amended, he could have been that type of man… _before._    
  
The John Sheppard that sat with her today had been molded by society into something very different. She knew, for instance, that he had three bullet wounds in his lower back; souvenirs given to him by one of his own former colleagues. The cop that had done it – a Sergeant Bates – had been another member of the LAPD and had claimed the shooting to be self-defense. Maybe that was true, maybe it wasn’t. There was no way to say how much control Sheppard had over his mutation at the time, but it was just as likely that the shooting was fueled by bigotry. Elizabeth didn’t eliminate either possibility.  
  
Still, the assault had nearly killed Sheppard, and when it didn’t the pile of medical bills did its best to bury him alive. This, on top of his newly emerging mutations, wouldn’t have been easy for anyone to bear, and John certainly wasn’t superhuman – not now anyway.  
  
Invaluable services, indeed. No, patriotism wasn’t the road most likely to reach her objective with this man. Not anymore.  
  
“You’re a mutant, aren’t you?”  
  
Elizabeth glanced at him, surprised. “How did you know?”  
  
He shrugged lightly. “You smell different.”  
  
She paused for a moment, vaguely disconcerted. “Should I take that as an insult or a compliment?”  
  
He smirked. “I didn’t say you smelled bad, just different. Mutants always do.”  
  
She raised an eyebrow. “So I’ll guess I’ll add a preternatural sense of smell to the list of your unique attributes.”  
  
“You can put it right below devilishly handsome and charming,” he suggested, flashing her a disarming smile that, while she hated to admit it, only served to highlight the truth of his words. “You know, since you’re keeping a list.”  
  
“And right above egotistical,” she offered. “Getting back on topic, yes, I am a mutant. A telepath.”  
  
He seemed surprised. “As in, a moving objects telepath, or a mind reading telepath.”  
  
“The latter.”  
  
Sheppard arched an eyebrow, intrigued, then froze. “Have you been reading my thoughts?”  
  
She resisted the urge to eye-roll. “No more than you’ve been projecting.” Whether or not he was aware of how much information he cast into the small cabin wasn’t her concern. “It wouldn’t take a telepath to understand your interests; I do believe you’ve made yourself perfectly clear.” He arched an eyebrow again, and a brief flash of the thoughts streaking across his mind had Elizabeth blushing. “A-about the job offer, I mean.”  
  
He idly nodded, eyes focused on the skies ahead. “Exactly, the government job offer. The one you’re willing to spend three grand just to proposition me for. Must be one hell of a job.”  
  
“It’s undercover work,” Elizabeth replied, “Something that requires your unique talents.”  
  
His features darkened and his tone turned cynical. “I’m guessing you don’t mean my sense of smell?”  
  
“No.”  
  
Clearly agitated, John looked away. There were many things about this situation that were difficult to comprehend, but one in particular bothered him the most. “You actually want me for my _mutation_?”  
  
Elizabeth nodded her response then attempted to explain. “We’re recruiting mutants, and you’re on the short list–”  
  
“—What could the government want with my abilities?” John cut in, turning abruptly harsh. “I’m a fuckin’ monster. I barely have any self-restraint when I change into that . . . _thing._ ”  
  
The depth of his hostility immediately overwhelmed the confines of the small plane. Any resentment he still harbored for the government was nothing compared to rancor he felt for his own mutation. The self-loathing – in a spike in unadulterated proportions – nearly bordered on the homicidal.  
  
John continued, unaware that he was suddenly projecting so fiercely. “There’s no use for that out in the field, and I assume you’re not here to pitch me a desk job?”  
  
“No,” she answered, swallowing past the lump in her throat. “But despite what you may think, I do still need you. And your mutation.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“I can’t answer that. Not until you’ve signed–”  
  
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. What can you tell me?”  
  
She had to avert her eyes, trying to concentrate on driving back the silent rage _he_ was feeling before it consumed _her_. The self-hatred he carried stung Elizabeth as if it were her own fresh wound. She could filter out a lot, but pain like this had a will all its own.  
  
That was when she first heard it.  
  
Distorted into a sound that was nearly unrecognizable, an inhuman voice whispered from some dark corner of Sheppard’s mind. Harsh and low, the words were nearly unintelligible at first – the malice behind it wasn’t. She was well aware of what he was – what his mutation caused him to turn into – but she had no idea that his anger and pain manifested themselves into a living, breathing entity inside of him. She could feel the shadow of his reptilian side in her head, pure rage and frustration aching to lash out at anyone for anything.  
  
“Agent Weir? Are you going to answer my question?”  
  
She wasn't listening; she was too focused on his other voice. If she gave it so much as an inch to breathe, it would take on a life of its own and she would feel its full effects – probably more than he would. He wouldn’t even realize what he was doing to her until she was gasping for breath, reliving a hundred of his painful memories in a millisecond. It was shocking that Sheppard seemed to be able control that side of him. It was… _overwhelmingly intense._  
  
“Hey,” he tried again, this time turning concerned as he touched her shoulder. “You alright?”  
  
The physical contact violently snapped her back into reality, instantly triggering her gag reflex and forcing acid to rise in her throat. Her hand flew to her mouth as the insidious voice inside his head finally abated – finally allowed her to breathe.  
  
She looked to Sheppard, his face etched in concern, and self-consciously dropped her hand into her lap. “Sorry, air sickness,” she bold-faced lied; the words surprisingly easy to conjure.  
  
He continued to eye her with scrutiny but thankfully didn’t push – instead allowing her a moment to regroup as he turned his gaze back to the sky. In the silent wake that followed, she found herself wondering if perhaps John Sheppard wasn’t what she needed for this mission after all. How was he supposed to help them when he himself was battling with a volatile internal rage? Her instincts about this whole thing could have been woefully off – and not for the first time.  
  
She was a telepath. She could tell you what could happen, not what would. That was a distinction that the people who knew about her abilities had a hard time grasping.  
  
“So,” Sheppard said, breaking the silence with forced levity, “how much money are you offering?”  
  
She almost closed her eyes in relief at the change of subject, but the action would have been too obvious. Instead, when she felt sure her voice was steady enough, she finally returned to business. “We’ll pay you enough to buy at least four more planes like this,” she answered, then let her eyes flit around the cabin dubiously. “That is assuming there are four more planes like this still in existence.”  
  
He froze, guarded. “You’ll what?”  
  
“Three hundred thousand dollars, tax free. You’ll get another two hundred once the job is done.”  
  
He stared at her, incredulous. “Why would the government possibly want me that badly?”  
  
“Sign the papers, and find out.” She sighed, suddenly completely drained. “You don’t have to decide this instant. Go home. Think it over.” She reached in her purse to grab one of her business cards and a pen, quickly writing down a time and location for later that week. She held it out for him. “If you decide to take me up on this offer, met us at this rendezvous point.”  
  
Hesitantly, he palmed the card. He glanced at it for a moment before looking up at her with both curiosity and suspicion in his eyes. “What the hell are you recruiting me for?”  
  
“A mission,” she answered vaguely, knowing that was all she could tell him. “I won’t lie to you, Mr. Sheppard, it’s dangerous – you will be risking your life. In fact, most people I work with believe this plan has little chance of succeeding. But the stakes are high and I need you on that team.”  
  
“Team?” he echoed.  
  
Damn. She’d already said too much. “That’s all the information I can give you now. If you do this, those medical bills will disappear and you’ll never have to worry about losing this plane or your company ever again. You’ll go back to being a productive member of society.” She smiled wryly. “Assuming, that is, you were ever one to begin with. The sky’s the limit, Mr. Sheppard.”  
  
He cocked an eyebrow, pausing for a moment as his fingers played over the card, idly tracing the engraved letters. Then he did something she hadn’t been expecting – he gave it back. “I don’t need the government to make me feel whole,” he said decisively. “Thanks for the offer, Agent Weir, but I think I’ll stick to the skies I know.”  
  
“You should at least think–”  
  
“I have,” he cut her off. “I’m not interested.”  
  
Elizabeth stared at him, utterly perplexed. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she couldn’t read what she wanted to know from a person. Her fingers loosely clutched her card but her eyes remained on him. “Are you sure about this?”  
  
“As sure as I am about anything.”  
  
It wasn’t an answer either way. “I’m disappointed, Mr. Sheppard – and surprised.”  
  
He shrugged, turning his attention to the controls. “I tend to do that to people.”  
  
She shook her head and idly wondered if her next recruitments were going to end just as badly. She’d miscalculated Sheppard. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d done that. “Well, then,” she said, glancing out at the sky, “I guess my hour’s up.”  
  
\--


	3. Chapter 3

\--  
  
From his file Elizabeth understood that Ronon Dex had an intimidating build, but no dossier could hope to convey the sheer size of him. He was a behemoth of a man. Lounging in the chair in front of her, he appeared much the same way she imagined a lion: lazy and feral, ready to pounce if faced with so much as an annoying look.  
  
A tiny tattoo on his neck, though smaller than Teal’c’s, marked him a mutant. Honor and pride for those who were once considered to be second class citizens, it seemed, was fast becoming a California trend.  
  
The woman next to him, a dark skinned beauty sitting rigid with her hands clasped before her, bore no such mark . . . at least visibly. Almost half his size, Ronon's cousin Teyla Emmagan should have been dwarfed by his presence, but somehow she held her own.  
  
Surprisingly, the two wanted criminals had been easy to find. Locating them, Caldwell informed Elizabeth, was never the problem. It was keeping them in custody that had thus far proven futile.  
  
With family in the area they had ties that couldn’t be broken, even by knowledge of standard police surveillance. Aunt Charin, an elderly woman approaching her nineties, was the matriarch of the family. Elizabeth and Cameron spent two days camped out in front of her small one story house in the suburbs just outside of L.A. Though the FBI had no way to prove it, Caldwell knew the house had been purchased with money from her nephew and niece's more clandestine work. Ronon and Teyla must have had a hefty sum stashed away by now, though it would be impossible to tell by looking at them. From what Elizabeth had gathered so far, both lived simple lives.  
  
“So, let us get this clear,” Teyla said, arching an eyebrow from her seat on the far side of Charin’s kitchen table. “You want our help, and in exchange for this task – to which we are afforded no details–”  
  
“Yet,” Cameron interjected. “You’ll get details when you say yes.”  
  
“If we say yes,” Ronon corrected, his tone somehow twisting the words into a threat. He glanced at Teyla. “I'm still trying to figure out why we're even listening to them.”  
  
Teyla shot her cousin a warning look, then continued as if neither man had spoken. “If we do this, the government will erase all records of our unlawful indiscretions?”  
  
Elizabeth had heard enough by now to confirm what she had already suspected – though these people may have been simple, they were far from stupid. Her file notes indicated that Teyla never finished high school, but it was readily apparent that she had the kind of natural intelligence that didn’t require training in an institution.  
  
It was easy to see how this pair – a brilliant woman and a man of unparalleled strength – could have managed a fair amount of criminal mischief without mutant powers. The fact that they had them made the team a force to be reckoned with. The corner of her mouth twitched. Ronon seemed the type of man content with being the brawn. That would be useful.  
  
Pulling herself back to the conversation, Elizabeth nodded. “In addition to the large sum we discussed earlier, all offenses – both federal and state – will be wiped clean. The government is willing to call off their hounds. You won’t have to run again.”  
  
“We haven’t been running for a while,” Teyla noted. “As you can tell by the fact you had no trouble finding us.”  
  
Cameron flashed a smile. “I guess that’s the benefit of not worrying about getting caught. Still, breaking out of jail over and over again, even if it is as easy as you two make it seem . . . it has to get tiring, right? I mean, how many times have you been taken into custody?”  
  
“A couple of times,” Ronon replied.  
  
Elizabeth arched an eyebrow. “Fourteen times. During one of which you put three policemen in the hospital for nearly a month.” She turned to Teyla. “You usually escape before they even get you to the prison.”  
  
Teyla’s eyes sparkled. “Though I do prefer not being captured in the first place.”  
  
“Then you should give them no reason to hunt you down,” Aunt Charin announced, walking in with a tray full of drinks. She glanced at Elizabeth and Cameron as she settled the tray onto the table. “Lemonade?”  
  
Elizabeth traded a bewildered look with Cameron before quietly accepting the offered refreshment. As she sipped on the lemonade she took a moment to muse at the irony that her meeting with two wanted criminals was shaping up to be more civilized than a similar encounter with a former cop.  
  
Ronon stood and moved to lean against the back wall, vacating his seat to allow Charin a place at the table. The old woman cleared her throat as she settled in, her gaze landing pointedly on Teyla. “I want you to take this job,” she said firmly.  
  
“Aunt Charin,” Teyla began to protest, “you do not–”  
  
“Enough.” Charin cut her off any further attempt to speak with a warning hand. “I am too old to have to repeat myself, so you will listen.” She threw a sharp glare in Ronon’s direction before continuing. “Both of you will listen to me carefully. I have spent the last decade of my life worried sick over you two. You are good children, I know that. You have done much to take care of our extended family, but enough is enough.” She drew her hands together and laced her fingers tightly. “These visits from police officers must end.”  
  
Teyla looked flustered, an emotion Elizabeth imagined was unfamiliar to the dark skinned woman, but she quickly recovered her ground. “This is a decision that Ronon and I have to make. We will listen to you, of course, but the days where we blindly take your direction have long been over.” She dropped her hand lightly on top of her aunt’s. “You taught us to think for ourselves, remember?”  
  
“I also taught you the difference between right and wrong,” Charin countered with disapproving shake of her head. “Much good that has done us.”  
  
Ronon merely grinned. “We’re not that bad, are we?”  
  
“Hush,” Charin chided, “I am not in the mood to joke. These people here,” she glanced to Elizabeth and Cameron, “are offering you a way to clear your name. This family’s name.” She unclasped her hands and gave her niece a firm squeeze. “If you do not want to do it for yourselves, then do it for me. Do it for Jinto, so he will not have to grow up knowing that his aunt and uncle are fugitives. I will not have him looking to you as role models.”  
  
Teyla’s expression was carefully controlled. “We understand Charin, but I think it is time that Ronon and I discuss these details with our guests in private.”  
  
Charin held Teyla’s gaze for a moment before glancing back to Ronon, her aged and wrinkled face softening. “Very well,” her voice suddenly sounded tired, “I have said my piece. It is up to the two of you to take it to heart.”  
  
She rose and Ronon was at her side immediately, sliding her chair away and offering a supporting hand at her arm. Though his assistance was waved off, Elizabeth took note of the almost gentle way he was handling the older woman. It didn’t fit with what she knew about him, but it was obvious to her that, whatever else could be said of them, Ronon and Teyla cared deeply for family. Strange how people continued to surprise her lately.  
  
When Charin left, Ronon settled back into his chair and reached for a glass of lemonade. “You shouldn’t let that fool you,” he remarked idly. “Just because we play nice in front of family doesn’t mean I won’t rip into both of you at the slightest provocation.”  
  
“Ronon,” Teyla warned. “Enough.”  
  
Cameron smiled and raised his hands in sympathy. “Hey, I get it. My grandma always had her say over everything, too. The day I told her I was going into the Air Force, she told me I should have been a cop instead. Now just look at me.” He paused and his tone grew serious. “But just so you know, it’d be stupid for you to pass this up. We’re offering you a once in a lifetime opportunity.”  
  
Ronon tilted his head, rumbling in a low timber, “Who you calling stupid?”  
  
Elizabeth settled her glass on the tabletop. It was time to cut to the chase. “Just ask us the question you’ve been thinking since we stepped through that door.”  
  
Teyla looked at Ronon, who nodded once. She turned back to Elizabeth. “Why us?”  
  
“Because you’ve got abilities we need,” Elizabeth began, “and those–”  
  
Ronon barked a laugh, cutting her off. “Told you they’d come begging to us eventually. This is a waste of time.” He slanted a feral look at them, abruptly losing his patience and slamming his fist on the table. “We don’t work for the government. Fuckin’ pigs don’t give a damn about us, why should we give a damn about you?”  
  
It was surprising to think that this man had once been a proud marine. Whatever had caused his dishonorable discharge had changed him. She imagined the treatment he and other mutants received years later had only solidified his distrust of the government.  
  
She also appreciated the severity of their family history. Teyla’s father, Turghan Emmagan, had been a victim of a mutant hate crime in the summer of ‘99. The murderer had never been caught, which resulted in a predictably lackluster opinion of law enforcement and the government in general. As luck would have it, Elizabeth and Cameron represented both.  
  
Cameron sighed. “You should listen to us before you decide we’re not worth it.”  
  
“Not all of us are out to get you,” Elizabeth added. “We’re not the bad guys.”  
  
“Any self respecting mutant would never work for the feds,” Ronon replied. “We won’t do it. That’s a betrayal to our kind.”  
  
Elizabeth smiled tightly. “I’m glad you think so highly of me.”  
  
Surprise caused Teyla to pause. “You are a mutant?”  
  
“I don’t wear a mark on my skin,” Elizabeth replied curtly, “and that information isn’t part of my normal opening greeting, but yes. I am a mutant. And I work for the government because, right now, that’s where I belong. Believe it or not, that’s where you two belong as well.” She sighed and resisted the urge to rub her forehead as the tendrils of a migraine began to weave their way toward her temples. “I have a gift. Telepathy. I sense things about people, and right now, I sense something about you two.”  
  
Ronon managed to look both amused and annoyed. “And what would that be?”  
  
Elizabeth refused to flinch under his patronizing stare and answered the question to the extent she was allowed. “You’re needed on our side. Otherwise, something terrible is going to happen. Even if you don’t believe me, it’s the--”  
  
Ronon released a forceful breath. “Even if we bought that, you still haven’t answered our question. Why us? Why does the government want us?”  
  
Elizabeth paused, thinking about their criminal records. She thought about their personalities and their backgrounds, and everything else she’d managed to find out about them through her telepathy or research. She could pitch them this story for hours, but suddenly she realized they would never really listen to her. These people valued something else, something she couldn't give them without--  
  
Cameron broke in before she could answer. “Why you guys?” he barked, as if the answer was obvious. “You want to know why?”  
  
In one swift move he reached into his coat and grabbed for his weapon. Before anyone had a chance to react, Cameron had fired off two rounds, one bullet for each of them. The first hit Ronon’s chest, compressed to a sliver of metal, and then dropped pathetically to the floor as if it were nothing but an annoying pebble. The second bullet phased through Teyla’s abdomen and tore into the wall behind her – passing through her body without leaving so much as a mark on her shirt, much less any injuries. They both looked surprised more than anything.  
  
Cameron smiled triumphantly, pointing with his gun in exaggerated emphasis. “ _That's_ why.”  
  
Ronon jumped to his feet, clenched fists shaking under the burden of self-restraint. “What the fuck to do you think you’re doing, man?”  
  
“Whoa, relax!” Cameron stood, raising the muzzle of his gun and waving his hands in surrender. “I was proving a point. You’re indestructible, both of you–”  
  
“Cameron,” Elizabeth spoke over him. “That was _not_ helpful.”  
  
“Talking to them wasn’t either,” Cameron replied, easing his gun into his holster. Ronon growled - literally growled - and Cameron's hand froze. “Uh,” he smiled tightly, “I'll pay for the wall?”  
  
Elizabeth glared at him before turning back to the table. “Forgive Cameron. Sometimes his enthusiasm gets away from him.” She hissed the next sentence. “Along with his brain.”  
  
Cameron very slowly removed his hand from the butt of his gun. “Uh, yeah. What she said.”  
  
Teyla glanced back at the bullet lodged in the wall. “I think it is time you left.”  
  
Cameron reached to open his coat. The sudden move caused Teyla to pounce, slamming into Cameron with lightning speed. Elizabeth reacted on instinct, pulling out her weapon even as she belatedly realized its ineffectiveness against the two mutants. Ronon grabbed her gun before she had even leveled it, twisting her arm behind her back and forcing her to drop it to the floor.  
  
Cameron hadn’t faired any better. Teyla had managed to disarm him with three graceful moves of some form of martial arts, pinning him against the kitchen wall and pressing his face into the floral wallpaper until he was practically kissing it.  
  
“My card!” he shouted, grimacing under the pressure of her hold. “I was reaching for my card!”  
  
Teyla glanced down at the wrist she held twisted behind his back. Clutched tightly in the awkwardly bent hand was a small rectangular card. After a second’s hesitation she snagged the card, released her rough hold on Cameron and stepped back. “That was an incredibly foolish thing to do!”  
  
Cameron had the gall to smile weakly. “Perhaps, but at least now I have your undivided attention.” He rubbed his right shoulder and glanced at Teyla appreciatively. “Nice moves.”  
  
Teyla rolled her eyes and turned away.  
  
Elizabeth wasn’t sure exactly what was going on, but Ronon suddenly looked more amused than angry. He released Elizabeth’s arm in the next second. “You’re an asshole, you know that? Goddamn suicidal asshole.”  
  
Elizabeth swore there was actually a hint of appreciation in his tone.  
  
Teyla didn't share Ronon's amusement. She strode across the room, sending a murderous glare over her shoulder. Still, if the situation had been reversed, Elizabeth wouldn’t have been as calm. She decided to not to look a gift horse in the mouth.  
  
Teyla’s voice was sharp. “What is this card?”  
  
Cameron turned back to her. “Time and place of our next meeting point. Show up if you want in. Don’t, and I’m sure the next cops that swing by will be just as impressed by your moves as I was – but not in a good way.”  
  
Elizabeth paused and then bent down to pick up her fallen weapon, making sure to move slowly in order to avoid raising anymore alarms. She wasn’t positive, but she could have sworn Ronon checked out her ass while she did so. She straitened, turning flustered and annoyed, and suddenly felt the urge to send a threatening glare towards Cameron herself. Of all the downright idiotic things—  
  
“Leave,” Teyla said curtly. “Now."  
  
Elizabeth nodded. “We know our way out.”  
  
As Cameron joined her at the front door she glanced at him from the corner of her eye and hissed, “Was that little stunt back there entirely necessary?”  
  
“Necessary?” Cameron replied under his breath. “No, not necessary. But they’ll definitely be thinking about us now. That’s the most we could ask for at this point. We're on their radar.”  
  
Words failed Elizabeth. She didn’t understand that type of logic. She wasn't even sure if there was logic in that statement.  
  
He opened the front door and they both turned back to see Teyla and Ronon still standing in the kitchen, eyeing them. Teyla looked justifiably pissed while Ronon still looked strangely amused. Cameron waved a goodbye before ushering Elizabeth out of the house. When the door closed behind them he took the lead towards their sedan.  
  
“I can’t believe you actually did that,” Elizabeth said, still incredulous.  
  
Cameron shrugged, turning slightly defensive. “Hey, by my count the only recruit we’ve lost thus far was the one you had.”  
  
She flinched, remembering Sheppard, and sent Cameron a fulminating glare. Settling into her passenger seat, she tried to dismiss any thought of Sheppard and instead direct her mind to Ronon and Teyla. It took a moment, but soon her abilities brought into focus a conversation no other person would have been able to hear.  
  
_“What do you think, Ronon?”  
  
"I think that Mitchell guy has a bit of crush on you now."  
  
Teyla's voice was sharp. "Ronon--"  
  
"And I know that look on your face. We're still gonna do this, aren't we?"  
  
Teyla paused. "I don't know. I don't trust these people, but Charin is right about certain things. We have much to think about."  
  
“This means working for the government.”  
  
“Only for a short time and then we will be free again . . . The offer is tempting.”_  
  
\--  
  
Rodney McKay lived off the coast of Southern California most of the year, usually sailing so far west that he ended up spending the majority of his time in international waters. Today, however, the government had requested he return to port to meet with Cameron and Elizabeth.  
  
The large sea vessel anchored to the harbor off of pier 87 was so opulent that Elizabeth had first assumed it was a luxury cruise. Upon closer inspection, however, she'd confirmed the name of McKay's vessel, the _Nautical_.  
  
McKay himself was independently wealthy and always had been. Besides a sister from whom he'd been estranged for nearly four years he had no family and, if rumors were true, few friends. Due to his exceedingly eccentric ways and his unique mutant ability to manipulate the molecules of water, McKay had chosen to isolate himself on the seas for the better part of the last decade.  
  
Though _isolation_ was perhaps the wrong word. The _Nautical_ boasted a staff of over seventy-five people (including maid service, cooks, and a shipping crew of fifty) all catering to the whims of one man. Elizabeth wasn't a judgmental person by nature – she couldn’t afford to be with her gifts – but something about Rodney McKay rubbed her the wrong way. This overkill of extravagance only cemented her first impression.  
  
There was only one scientist on board besides McKay himself – a doctor by the name of Carson Beckett. Elizabeth recognized him easily as he ushered them inside. His pioneer research with genome engineering techniques was unparalleled and he was, at one time, regarded as the leading expert in the field of mutant genetics. That was, of course, before he had taken up his vocation under the sponsorship of McKay and disappeared from the scrutiny of academia altogether. He hadn’t published a paper in over seven years.  
  
Still, it was Beckett’s work that had first unraveled the mystery of the single gene responsible for most of the mutant aberrations, which he called the ATA gene. His discovery and research of the gene had paved the way to understanding the scientific underpinnings of the nearly science fictional abilities of certain mutants. Elizabeth had tried – more than once – to review his work, but she found every third word of his dissertations beyond her level of comprehension.  
  
Whatever he was doing aboard this ship, Elizabeth knew it was more than tending to the welfare of one man in his capacity as a physician. She had no doubt that Beckett was purposefully continuing his research in international waters where few regulations could impede his work. McKay had always been notorious for breaking the rules where he saw fit. In the middle of the Pacific Ocean he didn’t even have to deal with the headache because no one could touch him. The thought did nothing to comfort Elizabeth – McKay had proven he needed boundaries.  
  
“Just this way,” Carson directed as he led them through the bowels of the ship. “It’s a bit of a maze when you first step foot on it, but I know this place like the back of my hand.”  
  
Elizabeth smiled politely. Carson had warm hazel eyes, a thick Scottish accent, and a genuine smile upon his face when he spoke to them. Despite his choice of company, Elizabeth found herself instantly warming to him. “How long have you worked for Doctor McKay? Your withdrawal from academia seven years ago came as a shock to everyone, as I understand it.”  
  
“Aye,” Carson replied, “I still hear about it. But Rodney allowed me to continue my research with ten times the funds that the government was providing and without any of the governmental nonsense.” He glanced sideways at her, abashed for a moment. “No offense to the work the two of you do.”  
  
Bringing up the rear of their group as they worked their way through the narrow passages, Cameron laughed. “None taken, Doc.”  
  
Carson turned the next corner. “I've been living here for nearly five years now. Took a wee bit of getting used to - I had an upset stomach for nearly the entire first month - but the sea life grows on you. I can't sleep without the sounds of the ocean anymore.”  
  
Elizabeth nodded. “How often do you make port and get out on land?”  
  
“Not as often as I would like. Rodney hates being landlocked, for obvious reasons. Ah, here we are,” Carson announced. “I'll just go get Rodney.”  
  
He had brought them to the entrance of an antechamber; one of the few tastefully decorated rooms on the ship. While most of the others were lavishly adorned with exquisite and (probably insanely) expensive furnishings, the trappings of this space were sparse, though classic. The most prominent item in the room was a large cherry desk strewn with papers and various paraphernalia Elizabeth couldn't identify from a distance. She and Cameron politely waited outside while Carson knocked on the door.  
  
“Carson, is that you?” a voice shouted from the other side. “Good, I wanted to speak to you about this latest series of experiments—” The door flew open and one Rodney McKay bustled into the room, dressed in nothing but boxer shorts and drenched with water from head to toe.  
  
He stopped short when he saw Elizabeth and Cameron, though it was a toss up as to which of the three looked more shocked at the encounter. Water dripped off of McKay's chin as he struggled for words, his eyes wide with surprise.  
  
_Whoa,_ Cameron thought, _and now I'm scarred for life._  
  
Carson cleared his throat, grabbed a robe that lay discarded across the back of a nearby chair and tossed it at McKay. “We have company, Rodney, remember? The FBI agents?”  
  
“What?” McKay snapped out of his stupor, annoyed. “I don't remember anything about that!”  
  
“I told you about it yesterday.”  
  
“When?” McKay demanded, hastily pulling on the robe. “I would distinctly remember the mention of Federal Agents if I had heard it.”  
  
“It was during our fourth run on the Hikemen Project,” Carson whispered, flashing a tight, embarrassed smile at Elizabeth and Cameron. “This is why we docked on shore today.”  
  
“Oh,” McKay blinked, “of course.” He glanced at them. “Well, uh, welcome to the _Nautical._ ”  
  
\--  
  
Elizabeth and Cameron waited in another room while McKay got himself dried off and dressed. It wasn't long before he came shuffling back out to greet them, this time clad in a white lab coat, blue shirt and khakis.  
  
It was the first time that Elizabeth had been able to actively compare him to the photographs she’d seen. The pictures taken around the time of the toxic spill had shown him to be a man with a slim, athletic build and clearly defined angular features. Now, a decade later, he had more of a medium physique – just shy of chubby but too meaty to be thin. It didn’t match up with the image she had in her head. For some reason she couldn’t define, that annoyed her.  
  
The pleasantries were quickly exchanged while Carson poured iced tea for everyone. But McKay proved to be a man of little patience. He snapped at them to get to the point before Elizabeth had even worked past the introductions.  
  
She forced herself to maintain a pleasant smile. “We've come here to offer you a job.”  
  
On the table in front of them, McKay's glass of iced tea remained untouched. Despite that, the liquid in it had been stirring its content entirely on its own. McKay's ability to manipulate water molecules had obviously reached a point where he didn’t need to concentrate on the object to control it, much less glance in its direction. He seemed far more interested in getting Elizabeth and Cameron off his ship as quickly as possible.  
  
Still, the moment the words were out of her mouth the swirling iced tea stilled, and she glanced up at McKay in time to see a genuinely shocked expression flit across his face.  
  
“You what?” he asked, stupefied. “The government wants me to work for them again?”  
  
“Not in your previous capacity,” Elizabeth answered truthfully. “But yes. They want you back.”  
  
“What for?” Carson asked.  
  
Elizabeth met his eyes, sighing at the only answer she could provide. “That’s classified.”  
  
“Oh,” he responded sheepishly. “I’ll, uh, just let myself out—”  
  
Elizabeth shook her head. “It’s not you, Doctor Beckett. I’m not allowed to give Doctor McKay any information either – at least until he signs on. This is just a house call to see if he’s interested in pursuing the project.”  
  
“Pursuing it without any details?” Rodney was beginning to look annoyed. “Well, if they want me so badly,” he huffed, “they’re going to have to tell me something first.”  
  
It wasn’t an unreasonable request, but Elizabeth found herself chafing at the arrogant tone of his voice – the voice of a man who, as far as she was concerned, had nothing to be conceited about.  
  
It was his arrogance that had caused the radioactive spill in the first place. The story sanctioned officially by the government was that a mechanical failure caused the Seabrook Nuclear Power Plant to go into critical overload. The truth, Elizabeth knew, was that some (still classified) experiment run by McKay had gone to hell in a hand basket. McKay’s peers at the time had gone public with their feeling that it was really one man’s overconfidence in his own mathematical prowess that had caused the explosion.  
  
The end result? The toxic spill from the event had contaminated California’s atmosphere, blanketing much of the west coast in a radioactive substance that mutated the genetic makeup of millions of people. Whoever said one man couldn’t make a difference had obviously never had the dubious pleasure of meeting Dr. Rodney McKay.  
  
It took her a moment to snap back to reality, belatedly realizing that she had entirely phased out of the present conversation. Trying to cover for her lapse in concentration, she glanced at Cameron while he spoke.  
  
“—those are the only details we can afford to give at this time.”  
  
McKay still looked annoyed. “That’s barely anything! You’re not even telling me what sort of research I’ll be conducting!”  
  
Elizabeth entered the conversation. “This isn’t your typical work, Doctor McKay. You won’t be working in a laboratory. We don’t want you for your scientific skills.”  
  
Rodney looked insulted. “Then what do you want me for?”  
  
“Your mutant abilities. The government is recruiting mutants for a highly specialized job. You’ll be working under me—”  
  
“Wait, you’re a mutant?” McKay’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.  
  
“You’ll be working under me,” Elizabeth continued in a tightly controlled voice, “along with a group of other mutants. The job you will be doing is. . .” she trailed off, unsure of how to phrase it delicately.  
  
Carson attempted to supply the rest. “Dodgy?”  
  
She opted for blunt. “Possibly dangerous.”  
  
McKay squeaked, “Dangerous?”  
  
“We won’t lie to you about that,” Cameron added. “We can’t stress this enough, the work won’t be anything you’re use to.”  
  
McKay eased back in his chair, unsure of what to make of the offer. She could sense his emotions clearly, even the ones that weren’t written across his face for all to see. He was more than a little nervous about the details they were leaving out, but more than that, she sensed in him a tinge of excitement that he actively tried to suppress. She knew as well as he did that this type of opportunity was a rare thing. The government, and most of the world by extension, had largely written off McKay a decade ago. This was his chance at redemption.  
  
Still, one layer deeper Elizabeth sensed another emotion rising in McKay: arrogance. Knowing that his abilities and ingenuity could not be denied, even a massive blow to his infamous ego had not humbled him. He still believed the government wanted him for his brains.  
  
McKay thought a lot about himself in that regard.  
  
“Well,” he began, sending a smug look towards Carson, “I suppose something like this was bound to happen at some point. I told you, Carson, I’d get another chance to prove my worth. Not that it was ever really in question to those who know my—”  
  
Elizabeth slammed her card down on the table, startling everyone – Cameron included. The date and time of their next scheduled rendezvous point was already scribbled on the back. She slid it towards McKay.  
  
“I hope you’re right about that, Dr. McKay,” she said, holding his gaze. “I truly hope you are because a lot of lives are depending on this. There will be no acceptable margin for error. My colleagues laughed at me when I brought up your name. You’ll have to prove your worth to a lot of people that won’t be willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.”  
  
From his corner, Carson turned defensive on McKay’s behalf. “Are you one of them, Agent Weir?”  
  
“Me? No. I’m the best friend that Doctor McKay here could possible have. I know his worth. I know his value in this better than even he does. It’s my gift. I’m a telepath,” Elizabeth slanted McKay a look, “thanks to you, I suppose.”  
  
McKay was speechless for a moment. “You should be,” he squeaked, trying to look undaunted. “I _have_ given you a gift. Why does everyone keep on blaming me for the best fortune of their lives?! It’s not like I killed anyone! I gave their otherwise mundane lives some purpose. Just the other day I met a mutant that could fly. _Fly,_ like an eagle or a hawk or a, a, a—”  
  
“Pigeon,” Carson supplied.  
  
“Yes, a pigeon! So people should stop looking at me like I’ve ruined lives—” He stopped, turning to glare incredulously at Carson. “A pigeon?”  
  
Carson merely shrugged.  
  
Elizabeth held her temper in check, but just barely. She tapped her card on the table once and stood. “Meet us at that designated time and place if you want in.”  
  
With that, she turned on her heel and strode out the door without so much as a farewell. A moment later, Cameron’s familiar footsteps echoed her own as they made their way down the seemingly endless hallways of the _Nautical._ She was too wound up to consider the possibility that they might get lost, forcing Cameron to stop a crew member for directions. Elizabeth kept walking, needing the movement. When he finally caught up with her he fell into step and lightly steered them out of the bowels of the ship.  
  
Unlocking the door of the sedan, Cameron caught her eye across the roof of the vehicle. “Well,” he drawled, “that went well, don’t you think?”  
  
“Not one more word, Cam,” Elizabeth warned, looking away. “Not one.”  
  
\-- 


	4. Chapter 4

\--  
  
Clad in nothing but a small red shirt and panties, Elizabeth sat quietly in the dark of her hotel room, the sliver of moonlight from the window offering just enough light to illuminate the bottle of whiskey she’d been nursing for the better part of the evening. She was well aware of how pathetic she looked. She also knew that she hated to get drunk – losing control was a liability she couldn’t often indulge, and not just for the practical reasons concerning her abilities – but there were certain times when she still allowed herself the luxury.   
  
She figured the last week had occasioned her getting drunk several times over.  
  
The morning would bring another day of waiting, another twenty-four hours of sitting still while her potential recruits considered their answers. She had no itinerary other than to wait it out, which led her to the very satisfying conclusion that tonight she could afford to beat back the migraine that had been hounding her for so long. Whoever said that alcohol couldn’t dull pain was obviously never a telepath. A strong dose of her favorite single malt was one of the few things that had always managed to silence the voices in her head.  
  
The bottle had dwindled down a third of its original content but Elizabeth wasn’t yet overwhelmed by its effect. She could never let herself lose control completely. Others with her gift would have likely turned to the stinging relief more often and to greater excess, but she was unique in that regard. Irish was in her blood, if not her temperament. Though she could (and would, on occasion) drink Cameron under the table, the craving for alcohol had never become habitual or overwhelming for her. Luckily, she had inherited her father’s tolerance.  
  
And speaking of family, Elizabeth thought hazily as she glanced at her cell phone for the umpteenth time in as many minutes, she still hadn’t built up the courage to call Daniel. Apparently no amount of alcohol could prepare her for that particular conversation.  
  
Daniel was her half-brother from her father’s side, but she’d always considered him to be more than that. As children they had been roughly the same age and had grown up together as tightly bonded as twins. Their interests and passions had always run parallel to each other.   
  
While one eventually pursued the academic arena and the other ventured toward the political circuit, in the wake of the mutations only Daniel had achieved his goal – he now worked as a professor at UCLA as a member of their highly acclaimed anthropology department. On the other side of the coin, her career as a political barracuda had ended before it ever really began.  
  
As sorely as she’d been tempted, though, she couldn’t honestly cite her mutations as the sole reason for her failure. After all, Daniel had been gifted with the same mutant gene as she had, with the same resulting abilities: they were both telepaths. The difference was that while her ESP had rendered her incapacitated for years, Daniel had persevered and gained control over his new talents within mere months. That harsh reality still stung, even after all of this time. She saw the stark reminder of her own failures and shortcomings reflected in her brother’s face every time she saw him, which was a large part of why they never talked anymore. It hurt to face the knowledge that if she had only been stronger, more capable, she could have handled things as well as Daniel.  
  
Having two telepaths in the family, as it turned out, had been incredibly problematic. In the beginning simply learning to control one set of powers was difficult enough, but they soon discovered that there were additional complications to their specific mutation. When they’d both been admitted into the same psychiatric facility in those initial few months, they found that proximity – merely having both of them in the same room – caused an amplification of their abilities. The repercussions of their continued exposure to one another had eventually led to Daniel’s transfer to another facility.   
  
The separation had been heartbreaking at the time, but it was nothing compared to the slap in the face that Elizabeth received when Daniel returned to visit her months later, fully in control of his abilities, while she was still struggling to distinguish the voices in her head.  
  
He had tried to help her, but neither of them had been in a position to benefit from the attempts. Every time he came to her, his own control suffered from the exposure. Eventually it became so bad that he nearly stopped visiting altogether.   
  
It had been the rational decision. There was no reason for him to be mired down by her inadequacies if he could avoid it. She knew the choice had been hard on him and she knew it was for her good as much as it was for his, but in the end it still felt like abandonment. Her brother, the one man in her life that she could rely upon without fail, had disappeared at the time she needed him most. She had never been able to forgive him for that, though she made the conscious effort to repress the feeling. It wasn’t his fault. He had only done what was necessary for them both to survive.  
  
When she had finally gained enough control over her abilities to reemerge in society, Daniel had been waiting for her with open arms and a heavy dose of guilt, but she couldn’t allow herself to return and try to piece back together what once was. Instead, she left California and moved to the east coast, essentially severing all ties with him and what was her old life, pushing and avoiding until all that was left was a tenuous and brittle thread of their previous relationship.   
  
Daniel had once been her best friend, her brother, her confidant. They were nothing more than strangers now, their only connection a shared mutant strain of telepathy – the very thing that had driven them apart.  
  
Still, she missed him everyday.   
  
Slowly picking up the cell phone she focused intently on the illuminated screen, carefully scrolling down the list of contacts to his number. They hadn’t spoken in months, and even that had been forced on them – a brief and difficult conversation about burial arrangements for their father. She hadn’t been able to make it to the funeral, too busy with work, chasing down another mutant in an endless stream of arrests.   
  
A knock at the door saved her from having to follow through. She jumped at the distraction, the relief from the reprieve palpable. Quickly rising from her chair she hastily grabbed a robe and called for the visitor to wait.  
  
“Open up, Lizzie. I’ve got Chinese food!”  
  
Elizabeth sighed, making quick work of hiding any evidence of alcohol. He always hated it when she drank. “Hold on, Cameron. Just a second!”  
  
When she was finally presentable she pulled open the door and was greeted by a smiling Cameron and the smell of ginger. She frowned and glanced back at the digital clock near her bedside. “It’s eleven o’clock at night, Cam.”  
  
He raised an eyebrow. “You got somewhere to be tomorrow?”  
  
Her thoughts strayed to her cell phone and Daniel and she couldn’t keep the catch from her voice. “No. Not particularly.”  
  
Cameron paused for a second, picking up something of the undercurrent from the tone of her words. She swore if she didn’t know better she would be positive that Cameron had some telepathy of his own. He didn’t press her, though; instead, brushing past her and entering her hotel room without waiting for further invitation.   
  
“Kung Pao Chicken or Mongolian Beef?” he asked, flopping into the chair she’d just recently vacated.  
  
She briefly considered kicking him out, feigning the need for sleep, but her more rational side knew that she wouldn’t be able to do so without an explanation and she most certainly didn’t want to go through that right now. Besides, she was pleasantly buzzed enough that her migraine had fully receded. She should enjoy that while she could.  
  
Her lips tugged upwards into a smile of their own accord. “Chicken.”   
  
Shutting the door behind her, Elizabeth wound her way around the coffee table to perch on the edge of her bed, accepting the carton and chop sticks he offered. They settled into a comfortable silence as they ate and, after a brief war over the last egg roll, Cameron finally spoke up, “Do you think they’re going to show?”  
  
Elizabeth sighed. “Do me a favor, Cameron? There’s nothing more we can do until tomorrow night. Let’s talk about something other than work for that time?”  
  
He glanced up at her with surprise and then slowly nodded. “All right.”  
  
She was determined to spend the next day doing something other than what her job dictated. It would be a change from the ordinary and, despite the fact that the thoughts of her recruits were always going to be fluttering in the back of her head, she decided a brief twenty-four hour respite was in order.  
  
In the future, both distant and near, Elizabeth was going to look back and remember this time as the last moment she’d ever really felt that the world made one bit of sense.  
  
\--  
  
Twenty-four hours later Elizabeth sat on an uncomfortable metal chair in the middle of a cold, abandoned factory, and focused her attention on the sound of rain pelting against the rooftop overhead. The thrum of the growing storm reverberated through the vacant space and echoed off the walls, and at this point it served as good a distraction as any. The dilapidated building was their official meet-and-greet point and, while her recruits were already over an hour passed deadline, she and Cameron were determined to give them every opportunity to show. She highly doubted that any of them placed punctuality high on their list of priorities anyway. As of yet she was still resolutely unwilling to consider the other possibility: that each and every one of them had chosen to turn down her offer.  
  
The place wasn’t much to look at. A few wooden crates lay stacked to one end and the otherwise vacant area was coated with a thick film of dust. No one had been in this factory in nearly two decades, which was precisely why it was the perfect place to conduct their business tonight.  
  
Still, the stale air and rat droppings gave off a rather unpleasant smell and the entire place reminded Elizabeth of an old mobster movie she’d seen once as a teenager. She didn’t remember the name, but she vaguely recalled a scene where the bad guys had gathered together in an abandoned factory much like this one to plot their next big con. The irony of the parallels weren’t lost on her.  
  
“You think they’ll come?”  
  
Elizabeth glanced over at Cameron as he entered, the gust of cold air that blew in with him causing her to shiver. He took another step inside before running a hand through his damp hair and propping himself up against the wall with a heavy sigh, his trench coat still dripping wet, droplets of rain splashing onto the cement floor in an undefined rhythm. Elizabeth had sent him out for regular perimeter searches around the building, an undertaking she wasn’t quite sure why she continued to insist upon. It was just one of those things she did – the ones that Cameron had stopped questioning a long time ago.  
  
Elizabeth shook her head then returned her eyes to stare vacantly into the darkness through a half-broken windowpane near the door. “They’d better. I don’t relish the thought of going back to D.C. without anything to show for it. Hammond went out on a limb for us.”  
  
Cameron grimaced. “Yeah, me neither.”  
  
If Elizabeth respected Hammond, then Cameron worshipped the man. It had been Hammond that had roped him into the FBI in the first place, and Cameron’s loyalty to people he cared about and respected was both staunch and unyielding. She knew there was nothing he wouldn’t do for those he considered worthy.   
  
The sound of a jeep pulling up outside, its tires rolling to a stop in the sludge of mud coating the ground, drew both of their attention. Two car doors opened and shut and, simply by the silhouette of the individuals emerging, Elizabeth easily identified Ronon and Teyla making their way through the pouring rain. The part of her that had been beating back anxiety eased a bit, lessening the stab of ice in her chest. She at least had two of them.  
  
Elizabeth stood to greet them as they made their way through the door. “Glad you could make it.”  
  
Ronon grunted, glancing around the place dubiously. He already looked bored and unimpressed.  
  
Teyla stepped forward, cutting strait to business. “Before we agree to anything, we have some stipulations in mind.”  
  
Before Elizabeth could reply, a strange sensation coiled knots inside her stomach. She found herself shuddering through a shaky breath and searching over Teyla’s shoulder toward the window again. The rain, which had been steadily building into a storm for the last few hours, stopped abruptly in an instant punctuated by a flash of lightning. To say it was an unnatural end to the downpour would be an understatement.   
  
“McKay is here,” Elizabeth announced, eyes intent on the clearing skyline. “Apparently he’s been kind enough to rid us of the rain.”  
  
“Cool,” Cameron breathed, and meant it.  
  
She knew he envied certain mutant powers, even considered them _cool._ He wasn’t blind to their setbacks, and he certainly wasn’t ignorant to the stigmas attached to it. He was simply of the opinion that the mutations were more of a gift than most people realized.  
  
A moment later another car, one far more extravagant than the simple jeep Ronon and Teyla had arrived in, pulled up to the building. It slowed to a crawl and when its headlights snapped off Elizabeth confirmed Rodney McKay’s presence. Carson emerged from the drivers’ side and waved at them.  
  
“I hope we’re not too late,” Carson called out sheepishly. “We had a little trouble finding the place.”  
  
Rodney got out of the car with an annoyed huff. “We wouldn’t have gotten lost if you had just listened to my direction.”  
  
“I was listening to your directions—”  
  
“No, no, you weren’t. If you had been, we would have gotten here forty-five minutes ago. Actually, we would have been here over an hour ago if it hadn’t been for you and you abysmally inadequate bladder control—”  
  
“We only stopped a few times—”  
  
“My sister had better bladder control than you when she was twelve!” Rodney huffed. “Honestly, are you a grown man or not?”  
  
They continued in this vein for some time while the rest of the party made their way slowly outside. After watching the byplay silently for a few moments, Ronon threw Elizabeth a half-annoyed, half inquisitive look. “Who the hell are these people?”  
  
Elizabeth glanced up at him, once again marveling at his sheer size as he loomed over her. “Your teammate,” she replied. “Or at least one of them is.”  
  
Cameron arched an eyebrow and nodded towards Carson and Rodney as they continued to yell at one another and ignore their audience. “Something tells me they’re a packaged deal. Whoa, hey!” Cameron shouted to be heard over the din. “I hate to break up a lovers’ quarrel here, but how about you guys come inside?”  
  
Rodney stopped yelling mid-sentence and turned toward them. He glanced up at the dilapidated factory in disdain. “What? A homeless shelter would have been too elegant?”  
  
Teyla’s cold voice suddenly sliced the air, “Rodney McKay? Doctor Rodney McKay?”  
  
Rodney froze, apparently picking up the undertones of hostility. “Who wants to know?”  
  
“Son of a bitch,” Ronon muttered, eyes flashing with anger. “That is him.”  
  
Before Elizabeth could intervene, Ronon broke past her with speed that transformed him into nothing more than a blur of rapid movement. One second he was standing next to her and the next he had Rodney pinned to the car, his body pressed against the vehicle in a violent grip. Clearly there was a reason he was called _The Runner._  
  
“Bloody hell!”  
  
“Ronon!” Teyla’s voice was sharp, this time trained on her cousin. “Let him go!”  
  
Ronon had his arm braced against Rodney’s throat, leaving Rodney desperately mouthing for air. Elizabeth’s hand moved to her holster instinctively before belatedly recalling that they’d been through this song and dance once before. Bullets did nothing to the man.  
  
“Listen to your cousin,” Cameron warned, his own hand hovering over his sidearm in mirrored futility. “We didn’t bring you here to strangle a geek.”  
  
“This isn’t just any geek,” Ronon’s voice was rough, his lips curling back into a threatening sneer. “This is the asshole behind the Seabrook spill.”  
  
“You’re killing him!” Carson shouted frantically, eyes wide. “Stop it!”  
  
Cameron began striding forward but Teyla gripped his arm and stalled him with a simple shake of her head. “I’ll handle this.” Her tone brooked no argument and Cameron was quick to obey. She turned back to Ronon. “Release him, Cousin. This isn’t why we came here.”   
  
“Bonus,” Ronon barked.  
  
Rodney’s face was beginning to turn blue.   
  
“You’re about to commit murder in front of two federal MD agents!” Elizabeth shouted. “Tell me you’re not that stupid!”  
  
Ronon paused, the expression on his face frozen in a snarl. He turned to look back at her, then at Teyla. His cousin merely sent him a half-threatening, half-pleading glare. Ronon released a forceful breath and then abruptly let Rodney go.  
  
McKay gasped and sucked in precious oxygen. Carson broke from his stupefied shock with the first sound of his rasping breaths and was at McKay’s side a moment later, checking him over while Rodney slowly slumped to his knees, doubled over on the muddy ground.   
  
Ronon strode past Elizabeth and Cameron as if they weren’t even there, simply shrugging at Teyla as he walked by. “Shoulda let me kill the bastard.”  
  
Teyla looked flustered and annoyed, but she didn’t reprimand him. Instead, after Ronon had reentered the factory, she paused for a brief second. Her gaze settled on Carson and Rodney before she quietly began walking toward them. Rodney was still visibly trying to regroup, limply squatting on the ground, his clothes covered in mud.   
  
Carson saw her approaching and stiffened before placing himself in Teyla’s way. “Oh, no you don’t, love,” he said. “There’s been quite enough of that—”  
  
Teyla raised her hand in a placating manner. “I mean no harm. My cousin is … _temperamental._ ” Rodney snorted in response, still wide-eyed and more than a little fearful. Teyla’s attention shifted to him and she side-stepped Carson to extend a hand. “I apologize for him. That will not happen again.”  
  
Rodney glanced dubiously at the offering. He hesitated for a second before grabbing hold and letting her pull him to his feet. The action had been simple, but Elizabeth was silently stunned by the gesture.  
  
“Teyla Emmagan,” she introduced herself, offering the first friendly smile that Elizabeth had seen from the woman.  
  
Rodney cleared his throat, awkwardly returning the smile. “Dr. Rodney McKay.”  
  
\--  
  
“Project Coyote,” Elizabeth announced once they had all settled back inside the factory, “is the codename for this mission. Each one of you has just signed a non-disclosure contract. You are not allowed to discuss the details of this mission with anyone – family members, friends—”  
  
“What about Carson?” McKay interjected, glancing out the window to the car where Carson had been forced to wait. At the time, McKay had looked more upset about the treatment than Carson had. “He’s my physician, you know. I’m sure that whole patient-doctor confidentiality spiel could apply here. He won’t tell a soul.”  
  
Shaking his head, Cameron replied, “He wasn’t invited to play along. We can’t just let anyone—”  
  
“But you’d be wasting a valuable asset,” Rodney argued. “Within the man’s profession, while admittedly typified by an unimpressive amount of voodoo mumbo-jumbo, Carson’s work is one of the few that warrants any scientific merit—”  
  
“We’ll think about it,” Elizabeth cut in.  
  
Cameron turned to her, surprised. “We will?”  
  
She doubted the government would be opposed to the idea of having Dr. Carson Beckett on their payroll again, no matter how clandestine the employment would have to be. Convincing Hammond might take a few of the tricks she had stashed up her sleeve, but she didn’t think he’d have any real trouble accepting the Scottish doctor, not after accepting McKay anyway.  
  
Still, she flashed McKay a pointed look. “I’m not promising anything.”  
  
McKay nodded, “Fair enough.”  
  
From his corner of the room, separated from McKay by several feet and a stern looking Teyla, Ronon stood with his arms crossed over his chest. “Can we get on with it already? I don’t like this cloak and dagger bullshit.”  
  
Elizabeth’s eyes cut to him and she nodded. “All right, how many of you have heard of the Genii?”  
  
Teyla stiffened and traded a look with her cousin. “Few of us haven’t. They are an influential organization among the circles we travel.”  
  
Elizabeth paused. “Do you have contact with them?” She looked to Teyla for further explanation but the woman seemed hesitant to broach the subject.   
  
“Teyla did,” Ronon eventually answered for her. “It didn’t end well.”  
  
Teyla merely raised an eyebrow at Ronon before turning back to Elizabeth. “I suppose it would be best if I were blunt?”  
  
“That would be nice,” Cameron answered, shrugging a little as he walked closer. “What’s the story?”  
  
Teyla sighed, and while her eyes were resolute, Elizabeth could pick up echoes of frustration beneath the calm facade. Still, Elizabeth realized that traces of emotion were exceptionally hard to decipher in Teyla. While Elizabeth always had trouble identifying feelings – she dealt better with tangible things like thoughts and actions – she usually didn’t have this much difficulty.   
  
Teyla Emmagan had fewer emotional tells than most, and Elizabeth was surprised to realize that what she had at first assumed to be a steadfast persona was actually hinting at something else entirely. Elizabeth just didn’t yet know what it was.  
  
“There was a friend of my father, a man by the name of Tyrus,” Teyla began. “I worked with him on occasion, but only briefly. The last job we did together did not end well. He died and I barely managed to escape with my life. ”   
  
“Tyrus worked for the Genii?” Cameron asked.  
  
“Yes,” Teyla affirmed. “He was one of the highest ranking men among their numbers. His daughter, Sora, has since taken his place. She blames me for her father’s death.”  
  
Elizabeth closed her eyes and let the disappointment wash over her. This was not the news they needed. “We’re trying to infiltrate the Genii Organization. That’s why we’ve assembled this team.”  
  
Teyla’s head snapped up. “I’m afraid that will be more difficult than you imagined. The Genii do not like me.”  
  
“Terrific,” Cameron muttered, “Like we didn’t have enough obstacles to deal with.”   
  
Ronon looked more amused than anything. “I get why you’d think me and Teyla would be good at getting in with a group like the Genii,” he nodded at McKay, “but him?”   
  
McKay tried to look affronted, but the stench of fear still rose off of him in waves when he addressed Ronon. “I’ll have you know my uses and abilities far outweigh your own. While the whole Conan the Barbarian thing might work for you, I happen to think the brain is stronger than any muscle—”  
  
“We’re going to have to rethink our strategy,” Elizabeth cut in, talking more to herself and Cameron than those she was briefing. “We formulated this entire plan on the basis that the four of them had no previous contact with the Genii.”  
  
“Four?” Teyla repeated.  
  
Elizabeth began to pace, too agitated to answer Teyla with anything other than a half-distracted response. “There was another man we wanted to recruit. He turned us down.”  
  
“Smart man,” Ronon muttered. “There’s no love lost between our family and the Genii. You won’t be able to make this work.” He stood straighter, smirking towards Teyla as if in victory. “Ah, well, at least we tried.”  
  
“We have to make this work,” Elizabeth insisted as she stopped pacing. “There’s no one else that we have for this job. We’ve wasted enough time as it is recruiting you three.”  
  
“And time is an issue,” Cameron added. “You guys heard anything about any Genii plans? Anything about what they’ve been working on recently?”  
  
Ronon’s reply was tight and condescending. “Maybe we didn’t make ourselves clear, but they don’t keep us up to date on those type of things.”  
  
“Well then, I guess we know something you don’t,” Cameron shot back. “Six months from now the Genii are planning an attack on American soil. We don’t know the details, the precise timing or location, but we do know the threat is real. If we don’t find out what’s going to happen and how to stop it, God only knows what the outcome will be.”  
  
“So you recruited mutants to infiltrate their organization?” Rodney asked. “I don’t believe I’m saying this, but I agree with Conon. Why’d you pick me? I don’t do this type of thing. In fact, I’m horrible at lying. Seriously, I stutter and laugh inappropriately. There’s even an eye twitch involved!”  
  
Elizabeth saw the unadulterated fear in his eyes and felt a rather unwelcome spark of sympathy for the man. They really were asking a lot of the scientist, and the entire operation was well out of his comfort zone. “I know, Dr. McKay. But you’re necessary.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
She wasn’t able to answer that. It was more of an overwhelming instinct on her part that Rodney, Teyla and Ronon were all vital components to this mission. The fact that Sheppard had refused to join their ranks threw a wrench in her plans. She had largely assumed it would take all of them to make this work, but right now she had to make due with what she’d been given.  
  
She turned away from the group, ignoring Rodney’s question. “I’m going to do another perimeter search,” she said, catching Cameron’s eye. “Fill them in on the details we have.”  
  
Cameron nodded, though she caught a whisper of his cynical thoughts. _What details?_  
  
Elizabeth made her way briskly out the door and set off to walk a short circuit around the building. Just as she turned the first corner her legs buckled unexpectedly and gave way, sending her sliding into an undignified heap in the mud. Her vision blurred and she was suddenly violently assaulted with distorted voices screaming her name. It seemed as though there were a thousand of them all crying out in anger and pain. It robbed her of breath. She tried to cover her ears, to block them out, but she was overwhelmed by the magnitude of the impact on her senses. She couldn't recognize them, couldn’t silence them, couldn’t do anything.  
  
Elizabeth struggled to force her limbs to cooperate, to rise from the ground, but something – someone, she realized – was blocking her efforts.  
  
A pair of masculine legs came into view, and while Elizabeth was too disoriented to follow the length of them upwards to identify her attacker, the last thought she had before oblivion pulled her under was that there was something achingly familiar in the presence of this man.  
  
Then she passed out.


	5. Chapter 5

\--  
  
When she came to, the only sensations she was immediately aware of was the glare of fluorescent lighting and the pressure of a massive headache which managed to block out everything else. She groaned and made a move to sit up, a maneuver that turned out to be ill-advised, causing a wave of dizziness to hit her. Soon, however, she was able to pick out voices – regular, distinct voices – drifting through the haze.  
  
“Elizabeth, lie back down.”  
  
“Is she alright?”  
  
“Consciousness is a good indication.”  
  
“What happened?” she whispered, blinking her eyes open. It took a moment of adjustment, but Elizabeth eventually found herself staring at the surprising face of John Sheppard standing alongside Carson and a third man with whom she was unfamiliar. “What?” She glanced around. “Where am I?”  
  
Carson gently prodded her back into a prone position. “You’re on the _Nautical_ , love. Lie back down. I need to check you over.”  
  
“The _Nautical_? How did I get back here?”  
  
Sheppard threw her a slight grin. “Trust me when I say it’s a long story.”  
  
The third man – whom was sure she’d never seen before – held back from the group. He had thinning wispy hair, thick-rimmed glasses and a small build. He spoke with a foreign accent as well; one with a hint of a West Slavic dialect, although Elizabeth was too disoriented to pin down exactly which region. “Good evening, Dr. Weir. I trust you do not know who I am?”  
  
Elizabeth studied the man and then glanced back at John. “I’m still trying to figure out what you’re doing here.” She turned to Carson, still fighting off grogginess. “Or what _I’m_ doing here?”   
  
“Rest, Elizabeth,” Carson said, avoiding eye-contact. “All your questions will be answered in due time. First, I need to make sure there’ve been no side effects.”   
  
She barely managed a whisper of alarm, “Side effects? Side effects to what?”  
  
“Rest, Elizabeth.”  
  
The effort to fight both Carson for answers and her own dizziness proved to be too much for her. She settled back against the bed despite herself, eyes closing in bone-weary exhaustion. Still, a moment before she drifted off she glanced to the side and was able to cut through the haze enough to make out another bed with another occupant in it.   
  
Rodney McKay lay prone on his side, deathly pale and currently unconscious. She closed her eyes against the questions swirling in her head and evened her breathing.  
  
“It worked. Let us hope she remembers this time. We cannot afford to pull her back again.”   
  
“Aye, that’s for sure. Bloody miracle she managed to withstand the . . .”  
  
And then she fell asleep.  
  
\--  
  
The second time she woke, no one was there to greet her. The dizziness had lessened, although in its wake she felt exhaustion weigh down on her heavily. She pushed herself onto her elbows and studied her surroundings a bit, finding the room to be equipped with the standard supplies of any hospital room, the only difference being the sight of the open sea that greeted her when she glanced out of the small oval window above her bed. So it was true. She had somehow found her way onboard the _Nautical._ How and why she had accomplished that feat were just a few of the many questions that she intended to have answered.  
  
A white curtain divided the room in half and, if she remembered correctly, Rodney McKay lay on other side.   
  
After slowly removing the IV needle from her arm and allowing the sharp sting to ebb, she stood. When she pushed back the curtain she found him just as she had last seen him. If it wasn’t for the way he was turned on his side, hand tucked under his head in slumber, she would have assumed he was bedridden in a coma. His face was completely ashen and bloodless, stark white even against the white bed sheets. There were several machines hooked up to him, and the soft beat of a heart monitor behind him indicated a slow rhythm that unexpectedly made her own chest tighten. He looked … frail and vulnerable.   
  
“You should not be out of bed, Elizabeth.”  
  
She turned around and found Teyla Emmagan standing at the infirmary entrance, the length of her body hidden by a heavy trench coat dripping wet with rain. The normally petite woman somehow looked even smaller in that moment. Elizabeth’s eyes flicked from one to the other, caught between staring at Rodney’s prone body and Teyla’s grim face. She looked wet and weary – exhausted enough to fall dead on her feet.  
  
Elizabeth glanced back at Rodney. “What’s wrong with him?”  
  
“He is not well,” Teyla answered tiredly. “And neither are you. You should be resting.”  
  
She had spent enough time resting in hospital rooms just like this one to last her a lifetime. “How long have I been out?”  
  
“Only hours.”  
  
Elizabeth paused. “Why do I feel like I’m missing huge pieces of the puzzle then? What happened? Why were Rodney and I knocked unconscious–”  
  
“You both do not suffer from the same affliction,” Teyla cut in, pulling off her trench coat slowly. She laid it on the back of a nearby chair, revealing a sleeveless purple shirt underneath. When she turned back to Elizabeth water dripped from her hair and fell on her bare shoulders. Elizabeth shivered just looking at her. “Rodney is enduring the terminal effects of an illness that has been plaguing him for the last ten years. You are suffering from something far more fleeting.”  
  
Elizabeth wasn’t sure where to begin asking her questions, but one word stuck out more harshly than any other, “Terminal?”   
  
Teyla exhaled, her face taut with emotion. Despite that, Elizabeth found that when she reached out and tried she could sense nothing from her. Not even a flutter of emotion. No whisper of thought whatsoever. It was almost like Teyla was an impenetrable rock, steady and unfeeling. The expression on her face belied that, and the discrepancy was just one more thing that unbalanced Elizabeth’s nerves.  
  
“There is much you need to know, much that we must tell you.” She shook her head, a gesture of both frustration and futility. “I do not even know where to begin.”  
  
“The beginning,” Elizabeth replied. “How did we get here from the factory? Why? What happened back there?”  
  
Teyla looked up, eyes hooded under bangs of dripping wet hair. “You met Zelenka?”  
  
“Zelenka?” Elizabeth repeated, bewildered. “Is that the man with the accent? The one that was here when I first woke up?”  
  
Teyla nodded, coming closer to stand by Elizabeth. She looked down at Rodney and surprised Elizabeth when she reached over and brushed a stray strand of hair from his face. The gesture was intimate, friendly, and a thing almost unbelievable coming from a woman who had barely been introduced to this man mere hours ago.  
  
“Zelenka is a mutant like you and I,” Teyla explained softly. “His ability is the manipulation of time and space. He brought you here, to this time, because we needed you to know what will happen. What has happened. We need to make sure that you don’t let it happen again.”  
  
The words, said so candidly, robbed Elizabeth of breath. “I’ve been brought through time?”  
  
“You’re currently occupying your future self’s body,” Teyla answered. “When we return you, it will be as if no time has passed at the factory.”  
  
Elizabeth stood, stunned and speechless.  
  
Teyla continued, “The date is October 16, 2008, Elizabeth. We did all of this because… we are desperate,” she locked gazes with her, “because we are suffering genocide.”  
  
\--  
  
Nearly two years had passed. She’d been brought forward nearly _two years._ The thought stalled in Elizabeth’s head, making rationalizations and explanations and anything else Teyla had to offer almost impossible to comprehend. But, with an infinite amount of patience, Teyla set about explaining the story anyway.  
  
Teyla led them outside the infirmary, shutting the entrance door as they left. As they made their way to the opposite end of the vessel – to the kitchen, Teyla had informed her – Elizabeth had followed in a nearly zombie-like trance, overwhelmed by the few tidbits of information she had received thus far. She was almost afraid to learn more.   
  
Genocide. The word alone was enough to give her nightmares.  
  
The _Nautical’s_ kitchen turned out to be a commercial sized gourmet affair, large enough to allow dozens of chefs and waiters the room to cater to over a hundred people at a time. It was quiet though, as Teyla and Elizabeth were the sole occupants in the entire stainless steel environment. As far as Elizabeth could make out from her trek through the vessel, the ship was occupied by barely a dozen staff and crew, and that modest count included Sheppard, Carson, and that third man, Zelenka – none of whom she had seen since she’d first awoken.   
  
“Zelenka’s power,” Teyla explained, “is the manipulation of time and space, though in practice the ability is fickle. It does not work often, and when it does the effects and consequences are usually unpredictable, a thing that makes Zelenka deeply paranoid about the use of his gifts. But we deemed the risks necessary.”   
  
“Why?”   
  
“The Genii made good on their threat, Elizabeth,” Teyla answered, gesturing for her to sit. Elizabeth complied, climbing on top of a stool to perch uncomfortably while Teyla made her way around a counter and rummaged through cabinets. “Six months after you recruited us,” Teyla continued, seizing several teabags, “the Genii took control of a nuclear power plant outside of Virginia. The plan had been simple all along – reproduce the radioactive catastrophe all over again, this time in an effort to not only create more mutants, but also to increase the power base of any nearby mutants already within the contamination zone. In that one act Kolya managed to make the Genii more powerful and dangerous than any previous terrorist organization.”  
  
“Kolya?”   
  
“The leader of the Genii. He was the man hidden in the shadows all along.”  
  
Elizabeth had done research. Everything, including the underground rumors, all confirmed something else entirely. “I thought the leader of the Genii was a man named Cowen and his second was named Ladon.”  
  
“True, during your time,” Teyla agreed, going about making a warm cup of tea. As she settled a pot of water on the stove, she sighed and turned to look at Elizabeth. “It is unfortunate to say that we are the people responsible for his ascension into power. We failed Project Coyote, Elizabeth, rather spectacularly. Millions of people died because of it.”  
  
“How?” Elizabeth posed the question on a delicate breath.  
  
“The effects of the spill weren’t duplicated properly, despite the fact that Kolya kidnapped Rodney in an attempt to coerce him into helping. We managed to rescue Rodney, but Kolya went through with his foolish plans. It worked, but only to a degree. Hundreds of mutants died in the aftermath and thousands of humans perished as well. The mutations were largely virulent strains.”   
  
Elizabeth glanced away, the shock and fear too overwhelming. “So you brought me here to tell me all of this? Can you send me back? Send me so I can prevent it all?”  
  
Teyla released a forceful breath. “That is our hope. We are praying this attempt will be successful.”  
  
Elizabeth’s brow knitted together in confusion, “This attempt?”  
  
Teyla leaned back against the counter, pausing. A moment later she wandered toward the commercial sized freezer in the corner. “I suppose learning all of this merits comfort food?” she asked sardonically, rummaging once again. Elizabeth found her need to keep active and moving more telling than anything. Her instincts told her that Teyla was generally a tranquil presence by nature. That knowledge, combined with such a display of restlessness before her, tied her own stomach in knots. “I think I have a favorite flavor of yours somewhere in here.”  
  
“Teyla,” Elizabeth implored, “please, just tell me what’s going on.”   
  
She froze for a moment, took a deep breath, then reluctantly pulled back from the freezer and met Elizabeth’s eyes, her gaze level. “We’ve pulled you forward in time before, Elizabeth,” she said finally. “Once, eight months ago, immediately after the spill. We told you everything that had happened, everything we knew at that point, and then we sent you back to your original timeline with the hope that you would stave off this nightmare.”  
  
“You brought me back once before?” Elizabeth breathed, standing quickly to round the corner toward Teyla. “That’s impossible! I would remember that!”  
  
“Unfortunately not,” Teyla sighed.  
  
“No,” Elizabeth replied vehemently, shaking her head. “I don’t believe that. I would remember,” she insisted.  
  
Teyla nodded once and then turned back to the freezer to briefly to pull out a box of ice cream. She came back over to the counter and set it down along with two spoons, smiling ruefully. “A side effect of the time traveling, we learned, was amnesia. Zelenka had warned us of that. We were hoping your powers would protect you from its effects, but it seemed as though you had retained nothing from your previous visit.”  
  
“When?” Elizabeth asked, “When did you pull me out of my timeline?”  
  
“From our perspective, eight months ago. From yours, a mere two weeks.”  
  
“Two weeks?” Elizabeth repeated faintly, “Nothing happened two weeks ago. Two weeks ago, I had been in D.C. going over files . . .”  
  
She trailed off as realization slowly dawned on her, swallowing her tongue whole. Two weeks ago she had been reviewing the personnel files of over three hundred and eighty mutants. She had been swamped in paperwork, unable to make heads or tails of who she should recruit for her team.   
  
Then, all of sudden, she had woken up in bed from a heart stopping nightmare that she still couldn’t remember. It had left her feeling haunted and cold and she had acted like a woman possessed for the rest of the night. She spent the next several hours until dawn rummaging through mounds of files, intent on finding something – several _someones_ , to be exact – and, as she stumbled onto the files of Sheppard, Teyla, Ronon, and McKay, one by one she had known without studying any of the accompanying information that they were who she wanted; no, they were who she _needed._ They were her team.  
  
Until this moment she had attributed this strong sense of rightness to her telepathy. Though now, when she thought back to the first time that she read their files, the first time she had seen the pictures accompanying them, it had felt so familiar – so right – she wondered if she had retained a tenuous thread of her previous time-travel experience after all. It had just been an instinctual familiarity, one that she was unable to pinpoint, and she had largely written it off to her mutation. She never considered that it might have been something different altogether, though no less paranormal.  
  
“I don’t believe this,” she said quietly, sinking back onto her chair again. “I’ve been to the future and you told me all this, but I don’t remember?”   
  
“Ironic, yes?” Teyla replied, digging into the ice cream. She seemed more nonchalant about the information than Elizabeth was entirely comfortable with. “What is the point of a gift such as Zelenka’s if we cannot change anything from it?”  
  
“Why did you bring me back again if you were so certain that I wouldn’t remember anything like last time?”  
  
“We are not certain,” Teyla answered, arching an eyebrow. “Zelenka’s powers are so unpredictable that even he does not know what will happen. Besides, we have little time left and we need to exhaust all possible avenues before then.”  
  
She felt like she’d been dimly echoing Teyla all night long. “Little time left?”  
  
The spoonful of ice cream froze halfway to Teyla’s mouth and she slowly set it down, her appetite apparently forgotten. “The second spill has been… problematic to each of us, although with differing results. Although you do not know it in your time, McKay has been sick for nearly ten years. Ever since he gained control over water, he’s been cursed with the need of it. Anytime he is not surrounded by an immense amount of water he runs the risk of dying of an extreme case of dehydration.” Her eyes flickered down, shadowing slightly. “It was bad before. After the spill, the situation has turned worse.”  
  
Elizabeth paused for a moment, unsettled. “He’s dying.” It wasn’t a question.   
  
Teyla looked away. “Carson feels his treatments have lost all effect. McKay’s condition is deteriorating rapidly.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Elizabeth said softly. “I can tell he is your good friend.”  
  
“More than that,” Teyla replied, turning back to catch her eye. Her voice steeled, turned strong, not weathered down like everything else she had said thus far, “We are family. All of us, family. The last few years have created a close bond between us.” She shook her head. “I know you barely know me, Elizabeth, but we know you.”  
  
Elizabeth paused, unable to formulate a response.  
  
Teyla offered her a smile, holding up a spoonful of ice cream. “Are you sure you don’t want to binge? I think if there is ever a time for it, it is now.”  
  
Elizabeth glanced at the ice cream. Coffee flavored. Teyla had been right – it was her favorite. It was the more subtle clues that lent credence to Teyla’s words and made Elizabeth feel the weight of the conversation, not that Elizabeth would have suspected a hoax in the first place. It was encouraging, she supposed, to know that she would find a friend in Teyla. Unfortunately that small comfort was overshadowed by the shroud of everything else she had heard since waking aboard this ship. She waved off the offered dessert.  
  
“Where are the rest of you? Cameron? Ronon? Where are—”  
  
Her telepathy, which had been picking up a strange lack of anything substantial from Teyla thus far, immediately sprang to life at the mention of Ronon. Suddenly Teyla was projecting an immense amount of grief and guilt. So much so that Elizabeth knew instantly what Teyla was going to say.  
  
“My cousin,” she began, stammering over the words, “he… he is not among us anymore. He died nearly a year ago.”  
  
Teyla busied herself with clearing away the barely touched ice cream while Elizabeth tried to formulate a response, though she wasn’t sure there was anything she could say that would ease the pain. She hadn’t had the opportunity to know Ronon well, and what she did know of the man had painted an intimidating image. Still, she felt a pang of regret at the loss of him in response to Teyla’s obvious grief.  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
Teyla turned the faucet on, rinsing her spoon quietly.   
  
Elizabeth was left to wonder if the conversation was going to end right then and there, with so many answers still left unexplained. The notion of Ronon’s death alone had a whole host of questions attached to it. She had largely assumed the man had been indestructible. What could have killed him?  
  
Elizabeth hesitated for a moment before voicing her thoughts. “Was it the spill? Did the spill kill him?”  
  
Teyla’s hands stilled under the running water. “No,” she replied, softly. She turned the faucet off, grabbed a towel from nearby and turned around, wiping her hands dry. “It was me,” she answered, voice hollow. “I killed him.”  
  
Elizabeth sat, stunned and speechless.  
  
“I did it to save him,” Teyla continued, “if one can understand that logic. It wasn’t easy, but it was necessary.”  
  
Elizabeth swallowed past the lump in her throat, turning away. “Cameron?” she asked, suddenly latching onto the name. “Where is Cameron?”   
  
A spike of shame went through her that she had not thought to ask for Cameron before now, no matter how overwhelmed she had been feeling. His absence should have registered before but she had been too caught up with everything else to note his missing presence. Now, though, Teyla’s revelation left her in dire need of comfort. With a start she realized that there were few things that would have prevented Cameron from immediately being at her bedside when she had first woken up. The shocking news of Ronon’s death had her reeling with the possible scenarios.  
  
Cameron should have been the one to explain all this to her, not Teyla.   
  
She looked to Teyla and repeated her question slowly, “Where is Cameron?”  
  
Teyla’s eyes threatened water, turning pleading and guilty. “He shared the same fate as my cousin. I am sorry, Elizabeth, I had no choice.” She paused and forced herself to meet Elizabeth’s eyes. “He is dead.”  
  
\--  
  
She did not cry.  
  
By the time Elizabeth had reached the balcony on the top tier of the deck and her hands had curled tightly around the railing, the rain had stopped. She stood and stared rigidly into the night, looking out onto the cloudy sky as she tried to lose herself to the soothing sounds of the ocean. The cool salt air chased goose bumps up her bare arms but she barely registered the chill. She was numb for entirely different reasons.   
  
For all intents and purposes Elizabeth had just learned that she was experiencing the end of the world as she knew it. Still, among all of the horrifying details she had learned thus far, one managed to overwhelm her more than anything else.  
  
Thoughts of Cameron’s death cycled over and over again through her head, but every time she tried to wrap her mind around the thought, to make it real, she rebelled. It was impossible to think that Cameron – the man she had just seen several hours ago, the man that had stayed up with her just the night before – had actually died eight months ago. She hadn’t stayed to listen to the details Teyla had tried to offer. She just needed air and space…and to be somewhere far away from anything that would solidify the horrifying thought of Cameron’s death.   
  
Amongst all of the inconstant variables in her life, Cameron had been a touchstone. Hell, when she’d first made her way through basic training for her bureau job none of the other trainees had so much as greeted her hello before they labeled her an outcast. For a short time it had been so bad that she’d considered quitting her job before she was even assigned her first case. Fate would have it that her ex-boyfriend was rising in the same ranks that she was slumming in.   
  
It had been awkward at first seeing Cameron in a place she had never expected him to be. He’d been discharged from the military only a few years before, just a year prior to their break up, and Elizabeth had largely assumed he’d look for other ways to stay in the sky as a pilot. The FBI had been the last place she’d have pegged as a match for him. He surprised her again when he’d eventually volunteered to be her partner, a designation that a few other agents had actually threatened to quit over. They’d not only been partners ever since, but he’d become closer than family.   
  
The fact of the matter was that Cameron had been there for her when even everyone else, including Daniel, had walked away.  
  
“You have to understand—” she whirled around, finding Sheppard standing halfway in the shadows a short distance from her “—that it wasn’t an easy decision for Teyla to make.”  
  
Elizabeth paused, peering into the darkness. He stood obscured by shadows, his voice so low that Elizabeth almost didn’t recognize him.   
  
She turned back to the railing and cast her eyes out once again to the ocean. “I know,” she replied, almost reluctantly. “Teyla wouldn’t sacrifice her cousin without a good reason.”  
  
“Not anybody else either,” Sheppard added. “We all paid with blood that day. Teyla more than most—”  
  
She shook her head, cutting him off. “I don’t want to hear the details. Not yet.”   
  
She wanted to think about something else – anything else – and she hoped Sheppard would provide a distraction rather than conjuring more images of Cameron’s face in death, vacant and lifeless. She wanted the luxury of denial, if just for a short time more.  
  
“The details are what we brought you here for,” Sheppard responded. “You have to know them so you can stop them.”  
  
She smiled ruefully. “What? So I can become our own cursed daughter of Troy? _‘All heard, and none believed.’_ ”   
  
There was a pause and then she heard his footsteps approach. “You lost me there.”  
  
Her fingers curled again around the railings, clutching them until her knuckles turned stark white. “My brother loves mythology. One of his favorite stories was of Cassandra, a daughter of Troy. Destined to see the future but cursed with the blight that no one would ever believe her visions. She saw all the horrors that were coming but was never able to--"  
  
She pivoted on her heel to continue the story, but the words stalled on her lips the moment she saw Sheppard. Closer than she had been expecting, he was near enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath in contrast to the icy cool air. But that wasn’t what rendered her speechless. Flat, yellow eyes stared back at her, framed by a face that was covered with bluish-gray scales. By his side rested disfigured claws in place of hands, completely transformed into something that one could barely recognize as human. His proximity was enough to raise alarms, but the way he watched her with those alien eyes had her stepping back immediately, bracing herself against the railing.   
  
John Sheppard’s alter ego was out to play.  
  
“You don’t need to be afraid,” he whispered, head tilted to the side as he examined her. She finally took note that his voice – what she had assumed thus far to be low and soft – was actually more guttural in undertones. “I won’t hurt you.”  
  
She managed to find her voice, faint though it was. “That’s… always good to know.”  
  
For a second as he stood in front of her she was struck with the thought of just how easily he could overcome her. She could sense the restraint in him, what it cost him to hold back the strength of the beast within him. His control was impressive, she’d give him that much. Still, her stomach gave a little flip at his proximity.  
  
“Your heart’s beating fast,” he noted. “I told you, you don’t have to be afraid.”  
  
She nodded, unconvinced. He must have sensed her continued hesitation but he made no move to put distance between them. She wondered if he liked throwing her off balance like this. She hated the idea of it immensely and finally found command of her limbs again. She pushed past him, quickly coming to perch on the edge of a lounge chair nearby.   
  
His yellow eyes traveled the length of her, starting with her legs and sweeping up to her face. “I’ll change back,” he said, eyes coming to rest on hers, “if it’s easier on you.”  
  
The proud part of her wanted to tell him it didn’t matter, but they both knew the truth, “If it’s no imposition.”  
  
He nodded and then, right before her eyes, he transformed back into his regular form. The bluish-gray skin receded into lighter-toned flesh, the claws receded into fingernails, and the eyes – those flat alien eyes – turned human again, a hazel color that she would have never taken such special note of in any other case. The length of his body was largely hidden by his clothes, but she allowed herself a moment to imagine the sight of his entire body underneath his garbs changing back into human form as well. A moment passed and she was staring at the normal John Sheppard again – if such an adjective had ever applied to him in the first place.  
  
“I forgot that you used to be uncomfortable around me when I was changed,” he replied, his smile laced with regret. “Sorry about that.”  
  
She cocked an eyebrow, slightly surprised. “I got used to it?”  
  
He licked his lips slightly and smiled back. “We all got used to a lot of things.”  
  
“Are we going to talk more about how much of a family we’ve become? Because Teyla already filled me in on that, right before she dropped the bombshell about Cameron.”  
  
He paused, his smile drifting away. “I’m sorry about Cameron. I know what he meant to y—”  
  
“So, are there anymore bombshells to drop on me?” Elizabeth cut in, cocking her head to side. “’Cause, really, I think it’s best to do it while I’m numb.”  
  
John regarded her with entirely normal eyes, but they still felt like they were looking right through her. “I think you’ve had enough for one day. C’mon, I’ll walk you back to the infirmary. You should be resting anyway.”  
  
Elizabeth slowly nodded and fell into step beside John. By the time they made it back to the infirmary Carson was waiting for her, clearly agitated that she had left without his express permission. She waved off his concern as best as she could, settling back into her bed. Rodney was still asleep, and when John quickly bid his farewell for the night Carson followed soon after, leaving Elizabeth alone to lie awake with her thoughts. She slowly drifted to sleep just as the red light of dawn filtered into the small cabin, knowing that certain doom was fast approaching.   
  
And with the distinct impression that there was little she could do to stop it.   
  
\-- 


	6. Chapter 6

When Elizabeth awoke the next morning, it took her a moment to remember why she felt so absolutely miserable. When her senses began slowly returning to focus, she recognized the source of her anxiety as the all too familiar surroundings of a hospital room, one that immediately cast her mind back years – to the time when she’d spent her days and nights confined in a sterilized room in a mental ward.   
  
The space was remarkably similar and as the haunting memories quickly flooded her, she couldn’t stop herself from bolting upright and scooting as close as possible to the head of the bed - away from the door and anyone that might come through it. It wasn’t until she saw McKay lying peacefully across the room that she was able to pull herself back to the present. Or the future, she thought idly.  
  
Zelenka and Carson walked in as she shook her head and attempted to blink away the cobwebs, the latter with a computer tablet in hand. “Elizabeth,” he greeted with a wan smile. “Sleep well?”  
  
What little sleep she’d managed had been fitful and fraught with nightmares, but she guessed that he didn’t need to know that. Instead of answering, she glanced toward the slender man next to Carson and wondered what one was supposed to say to the person who’d essentially kidnapped her and forced her to travel through time. Somehow a simple hello and nice to meet you seemed to be wholly inadequate opening salvos.  
  
Zelenka scuffed his feet under her scrutiny. “You’re staring, Agent Weir,” his words were rushed and tinged with nervousness. “I had not thought you’d be so shocked this second time. Overly optimistic, I suppose? You’re looking lovely today.”  
  
She raised an eyebrow. “No, I’m not, but thank you for lying.” She turned back to Carson, running a hand through her bedridden hair in the hopes she would tame it rather than make it worse. “What time is it, Carson?”  
  
“Just a little after ten,” he answered, stepping closer to the edge of her bed. He tilted his head in concern, studying her so carefully that she had the distinct impression she looked as bad as she felt. “Feeling better today?”  
  
“Not really,” she answered with the truth automatically. “I feel like I’ve been hit by a bulldozer.”  
  
The moment the words left her mouth, she realized her mistake.  
  
Over the next two hours Carson and Zelenka ran test after test, intent on ruling out any possibility of a slew of alarming complications that could have resulted from Zelenka’s interference with the normal order of things. Beyond an aggravating migraine, however, Elizabeth displayed no symptoms to cause concern. She tried repeatedly to reassure both scientists that migraines were a regular occurrence for her, but their combined zeal overwhelmed any chance she may have had of escaping without being poked and prodded within an inch of her life.  
  
By mid-afternoon the _Nautical_ was sailing at top speed into the heart of the Pacific Ocean. When she questioned their destination, Zelenka informed her that they had none. “The _Nautical_ has largely been making laps around the Pacific Ocean for weeks now,” he answered matter-of-factly. “For several reasons.”  
  
“Like what?”  
  
“For McKay,” Sheppard answered, appearing behind her. He stepped slowly into the infirmary, cast one brief look of concern toward McKay (a flicker that disappeared almost immediately) and then seemed to shake himself out of it. He moved to Elizabeth and perched on the edge of her bed next to her. “Apparently the movement of water is soothing.” He shrugged, looking across the room to Carson. “How are our patients, Doc?”  
  
“As far as I can tell,” Carson cast his gaze to the vitals displayed on his computer tablet, “Elizabeth is healthy as she ever was. McKay—”   
  
“And McKay is as sick as he ever was,” Rodney muttered, eyes blinking open.   
  
There was nearly a whooshing sound as bodies rushed to his side. Before anyone had a chance to say a word, Carson had pounced on his patient and begun fussing over him. Sheppard and Zelenka stood flanking Elizabeth’s sides, gathering around to look on, though it was apparent to Elizabeth that they could offer nothing more than their silent support. She tried not to openly gawk at Rodney’s grim appearance but she couldn’t hide her sympathetic wince when Carson pulled out a slim white cylinder pen from his pocket and shined it directly into Rodney’s red-rimmed eyes.   
  
“Carson, is that any way to greet a man when he first wakes up in the morning?!” Rodney groused, batting ineffectually at his hands. “You’re going to blind me one of these days!”  
  
“Quit complaining, Rodney,” Sheppard drawled, his posture lazy as he stood by Elizabeth’s side and folded his arms across his chest. She might have bought his relaxed pose and easy tone had the close proximity and brush of contact between their shoulders not allowed her to pick up on the undercurrent of tension hidden just below his flippant demeanor. He glanced back to Elizabeth and rolled his eyes. “You should see him when Carson pulls out the needles. Cries like a little—”  
  
“Oh, yes,” Rodney cut in, “mock the dying man. That’s class right there. How did I ever surround myself with such a group of—”  
  
“Okay,” Carson interjected, leveling a stern look between John and Rodney. “Let’s stop this before it begins. Like children, you two.”  
  
“Worse,” Radek commented, smothering a grin.  
  
When Rodney’s eyes flitted in annoyance between John and Radek, his gaze landed on Elizabeth. She hadn’t said a word so far and found herself unsure of how to greet him. She had the impression that her future relationship with this man was probably going to be as different as everything else in this time, but she wasn’t sure how and was unwilling to jump to any conclusions.   
  
At a loss as to how to handle herself, she fell back on formality. “Hello, Dr. McKay.”  
  
Rodney threw her a bewildered look and quirked an eyebrow before glancing sideways at the room’s remaining occupants. “What’s up with her?”  
  
Radek sighed, and Elizabeth couldn’t tell if it was in exasperation or disappointment. “This is not our Elizabeth. This is Elizabeth, from… _before._ ”  
  
McKay paused for a second, confused, then his eyes widened with instant clarity. “What? You went through with it again?! When? Why? Why wasn’t I told?”  
  
“It was a spur of the moment decision,” Sheppard answered. “And you were sleeping. We all agreed it was worth one more shot.”  
  
Zelenka pushed his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and the nervousness returned in his tone, “Some of us with reservations, of course.”  
  
Rodney’s eyes settled back on Elizabeth and he shifted to sit up in bed. “So, uh, when are you from?”  
  
“I just met you three days ago.” Elizabeth folded her arms across her chest, trying to ward off sudden goose bumps. “I was pulled from our meeting at the factory.”  
  
Rodney nodded slowly, an indecipherable expression flitting across his face. “Oh,” he said faintly. “I remember that.”  
  
Elizabeth nodded, awkwardly glancing around the room. The men all seemed to be looking at her, waiting for her say something she supposed – but Elizabeth had no idea what would be appropriate at a time like this. She was still trying to adjust to the fact that these men all seemed to know her so well and had obviously been close friends for years, while at the same time she could count on one hand the number of interactions she had with all of them put together. This, combined with her complete lack of bedside manner, resulted in her floundering about like a fish out of water.   
  
The men continued to stare – with the exception of Rodney who suddenly seemed to be avoiding all eye contact. She thought she picked up on a tinge of shame in his expression, a discovery that both surprised her and made her feel even more awkward.  
  
Finally Radek cleared his throat and mercifully broke the silence. “How are you feeling today, Rodney?”  
  
Rodney stiffened for a second. “Fine, just fine. I’m thinking of hopping out of bed soon and dancing a jig, I’m so fine.” He tossed Radek an irritated glare. “And what are you doing here anyway? I thought I told you to stop wasting your time with these visits. I’m paying you to carry on my experiments during my convalescence, not play Florence Nightingale.” He nodded his head toward Carson. “That’s what I’m paying him for.”   
  
“Boy,” Sheppard muttered lightly under his breath, “apparently you need another nap time.” Rodney took a moment to throw his next glare in Sheppard’s direction but John turned toward Carson before he could muster another scathing retort. “How’s he looking today, Doc? Are we going to have to fetch the citrus and put him out of his misery?”  
  
Carson rolled his eyes, slipping a needle into McKay’s IV tube. “We’re going to run a quick scan first, then I’ll answer that question.”  
  
McKay slumped in his bed, affecting a look of woeful misery. “Oh, terrific. And the lab rat experiments continue.”  
  
Carson pretended not to hear and instead turned his attention to Elizabeth. “Feel free to go about the ship, Love. Your results all came back normal.”  
  
Elizabeth nodded. “Oh, good... Is there a place where I can freshen up and shower first?”  
  
“Your quarters, maybe?” John bumped her shoulder, grinning smugly, “You’ve got your own room on the _Nautical_ , Elizabeth.”   
  
“Oh.” Somehow that shouldn’t have surprised her as much as it did. “Great. Where is it?”  
  
“I’ll take you there,” he volunteered. “And then I’ll show you around the place, introduce you to some of the personnel.”   
  
She nodded her assent, bid a quick farewell to the three scientists in the infirmary before anyone could change their mind and run more tests, and then followed Sheppard as he made his way through the winding corridors of the ship. Just after John had assured her they were approaching her room, the radio that hung from his belt crackled to life and an unfamiliar male voice hailed him through static-filled bursts.  
  
“What is it, Lorne?” John radioed back.  
  
“We’ve got some… should see here… sir,” came the response, scratchy and incomplete. “Can you meet… steering station?”  
  
John paused, his eyes catching hold of Elizabeth’s. “Will do,” he answered, shrugging apologetically. “Be there in ten minutes.”   
  
Elizabeth arched an eyebrow. “Lorne?”   
  
“The captain of the ship,” John supplied. “Or at least as much as Rodney lets him be. He’s a mutant, too.”  
  
Elizabeth nodded idly, and while they resumed their walk toward Elizabeth’s room in relative silence, the pace had picked up marginally. When they arrived John still had enough time to give her a quick tour of her surprisingly spacious chamber.   
  
“Bedroom, bathroom, foyer, and living area,” he grinned, nodding out past the French doors at the end of the room. “You’ve even got your own balcony so you can enjoy the view.”  
  
Elizabeth turned back to him and tried for a bright, carefree smile. “Thanks.”  
  
He paused, eyeing her as a particularly pregnant hush settled in, the silence quickly twisting the moment into an awkward impasse for reasons she couldn’t even fathom. It left her with the distinct impression that there was something more he expected from her, but once again, Elizabeth proved to be particularly slow to the shift in the atmosphere.   
  
Finally, John broke the spell by snapping his eyes away and strolling to the other side of the room. “Uh, we don’t really have cable,” he said, clearing his throat and nodding toward the television, “but we’ve got a few DVD’s here. I think you stole our only copy of _Princess Bride_ by the way.” He smirked, though for some reason it looked like he was suddenly trying too hard. “I’ll be back in about an hour or two, earlier if I can manage, and… yeah, we’ll talk then.”  
  
Elizabeth nodded, curious as to what other shocking revelations the rest of the day had in store for her.  
  
Once John had left, she spent the next few minutes rummaging through drawers for a much needed change of clothing. Curiously sifting through the chest full of both familiar and unfamiliar garments, Elizabeth was slightly taken aback when she pulled out a pair of old sweat pants and a well worn t-shirt, both at least two sizes too big for her and decidedly masculine. Digging deeper and with growing concern she almost choked when she found a pair of boxer shorts tucked behind her socks. Clearly, she was sharing space with a man.   
  
She didn’t want to know, she decided, stuffing them back into the drawer hastily. Whatever her future relationships entailed, whomever she was involved with – if she wasn’t grossly over-exaggerating the evidence, that was – it was best if she didn’t worry herself over the details. She had enough weighing on her mind as it was.  
  
Even so, it took her a solid ten seconds of steadily chanting her new mantra to make herself close the drawer.  
  
Clean clothes clutched in her hands, she moved quickly toward the bathroom and switched on the light only to find herself starring at an unfamiliar reflection in the mirror. Her own face was barely recognizable – a few pounds heavier than her normal skin-and-bones figure, her features had softened considerably and were framed by long, wavy, shoulder-length hair. She tugged lightly at the ends, feeling the unfamiliar sensation. In the past – or the present, depending upon how one looked at it – she had always kept her hair short, a necessity for her job as much as anything else. The person staring back at her in the mirror looked to be almost another woman entirely.  
  
The fact that this other person was the woman she would become was more than a little frightening.  
  
She showered and changed, pulling on a green sweater and a pair of blue jeans. Giving herself one more once-over in the mirror, Elizabeth took a deep breath and reemerged into her bedroom, only to find John Sheppard hovering near her bedside table with a book in his hands.   
  
Snapping the book shut at her entrance, he turned toward her and smiled, absently toying with its weathered dust jacket. “Hey. Got done early.”  
  
Recovering slowly from the shock of finding John in what he purported to be her bedroom, Elizabeth looked him over curiously, searching for clues and finally settling on the book he was holding. “So you decided to snoop through my things?”  
  
He smirked. “ _War and Peace._ I’ve been trying to finish this baby off for some time.”   
  
She tried for a casual tone, “Your copy, then?”  
  
He shrugged and turned away. Elizabeth quickly reigned in her thoughts that immediately jumped to the men’s clothing in her drawer. She was too rational a person to draw such conclusions lightly – but when she grabbed a heavy jacket from her closet and John stepped forward to help her shrug it on, his fingers brushed against the base of her neck and she couldn’t stop the small shiver that ran down her spine or the strong feeling of déjà vu that accompanied it. She realized then just how often he’d been invading her personal space lately and how, until now, she hadn’t even noticed.   
  
“So,” she said, trying to refocus, “what was that on the radio before?”  
  
John ran a hand through his hair, making it even more disorderly than it had been before. “It’s complicated actually.” She arched an eyebrow at him and he had the grace to look chagrined. “Look, we’re kinda in the middle of about three different emergencies right now and they’re all just…” He sighed. “How about we deal with one thing at a time, all right?”  
  
Elizabeth paused, torn between naked curiosity and a head that was already spinning from too much information. “All right, then which one of those emergencies do you want me to deal with?”   
  
“The Genii,” John answered immediately. “Definitely the Genii. You can get the story on the Wraith later.”  
  
“Wraith?” she echoed, confused.  
  
He shook his head and opened the door for her. “Later, trust me. One emergency at a time.”  
  


\-- x --

  
  
She spent the next few hours going over the details of the Genii Organization. Anything and everything they had managed to gather together about the group over the last two years, including the layout of their hierarchy, the locations of several of their strongholds, and the men at both the top and the bottom of the ladder. The Coyote Group, as Sheppard had the gall to call it with a cheeky grin, had apparently been successful in infiltrating the Genii early on, and while that had been more difficult than she would have imagined, it turned out to be one of the few things that had ever swung in their favor.  
  
Apparently, amongst the lot of them, they’d been shot at, kidnapped, tortured, and killed a couple of times (to be brought back to life through various means, John assured her nonchalantly), and there was even one unfortunate incident of brainwashing (one that John refused to elaborate on further, demonstrating an unusually sensitive reaction to the subject). The Genii proved to be a conniving group, duplicitous to outsiders and treacherous to their own. There had been more than one coup in the last two years, one of which Elizabeth, John, and Rodney had apparently been key in orchestrating.   
  
“We helped stage a coup?” she repeated incredulous.  
  
“Well, in our defense, we didn’t do it purposely.”  
  
She paused, mouth hanging open, “I don’t know if that makes us innocent, or just incredibly naïve.”  
  
The stories continued, each one more gruesome and outrageous than the last, until she stopped Sheppard with a raised hand mid-sentence. “I just need to know how to stop the second toxic spill. Let’s start with that.”  
  
“Well,” John drawled, shrugging as he finished his drink and leaned back in his chair, “if we knew that don’t you think we would have done it the first time?”  
  
She threw him a dirty look. “You know what I mean.” She leaned forward and brushed his hand away from her soda can before he could swipe it. “I need the date, the precise time, and every excruciatingly minute detail regarding that day. Exactly how did Kolya overload the reactor? Who was with him at the time? What powers did he and his mutants have? Hell, I want to know how he took his coffee that day. Anything you can tell me.” She punctuated her next words by popping open her soda and taking a deliberate sip. “Everything you can tell me about that day, John.”  
  
“You and I had sex in a prison cell that morning.”  
  
She nearly did a spit take with her drink.  
  
The wicked gleam in his eyes shouldn’t have surprised her as much as it did. Once again she found herself unable to read this man or to predict his actions. In fact, she wondered if she’d ever be able to understand him at all. There was more to John Sheppard than met the eye – that was glaringly obvious. But more and more she was starting to get the feeling that she didn’t see even half of what was on the surface, much less what lingered underneath.   
  
A blush crawled up her neck and she settled her soda back onto the table. “I said the facts, John,” she quirked an eyebrow, “not your fantasies.”  
  
He grinned wolfishly. “Can’t blame a guy for—”  
  
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” she warned. “I have a gun… somewhere, hopefully.”   
  
It belatedly occurred to her that she wasn’t carrying any weapon at all. Personally, she had always hated guns, loathed using them even in target practice. But they were an unfortunate necessity in her line of work. The absence of her standard issue Glock should have made her more uncomfortable than it did, and quite frankly, she should have noticed it before.  
  
“All right then,” John began smoothly. He snatched her drink from the table and took a sip before she could protest. “Six months after you recruited us, we found ourselves just outside of Virginia…”  
  
It was hours later before John had managed to give her all the details she had asked for, everything that she would ever need to march back into Hammond’s office in her time and end Kolya’s plans in their infancy.   
  
Or so she hoped.  
  
It was near dinnertime that she spotted Teyla approaching the kitchen over John's shoulder, and an unexpected urge to flee overtook Elizabeth. Quickly excusing herself from the table, she managed to escape to a nearby bathroom before the other woman reached them. Elizabeth locked the door behind her, resting her forehead against the wooden frame for a moment, listening to the faint strains of voices drifting in from the other side.   
  
After a few deep breaths she pushed away from the wall, turning around to find her own face reflected back at her for the second time that day. She studied the unfamiliar image again, hoping that through the intense scrutiny she could somehow determine why supposedly such a strong, independent woman – an FBI Agent for heaven's sake – would be cowering, hiding in a bathroom. And from what? From who? From a woman who was suffering just as much as she was?   
  
Rationally, Elizabeth didn't blame Teyla for Cameron's death – couldn't blame her. Not when she didn't know the details. Not when she wasn't there. Irrationally, however, she found her stomach lurching at the idea of being in Teyla's presence. Every time the other woman had merely been mentioned during John’s narrative, a knot in Elizabeth's gut had tightened and pulled, robbing her of breath.   
  
She stepped forward, bracing her hands on either side of the sink and fixed her eyes on her reflection. She hated the changes that she bore and she loathed the way they solidified everything that was happening to her in a way that was undeniable.  
  
"Elizabeth?" Teyla's concerned voice drifted through the door. "Is everything all right?"  
  
She cleared her throat, waiting a second for her voice to steady, fingers gripping tightly on the porcelain. "Yes, I'm fine. I’ll be out in a minute."   
  
The doorknob jiggled but the lock held. Elizabeth closed her eyes in relief as she worked to regroup. By the time she opened them again she was alarmed to see Teyla's hand jetting through the solid oak and unlocking the door from the inside. Elizabeth whirled around, mouth agape as the hand receded back from where it came, vanishing from sight.   
  
When the door eased open to reveal Teyla on the other side, Elizabeth made a concerted effort to pull herself together. "Was that really necessary?"  
  
"Did you honestly expect a locked door to keep me out?" Teyla countered, shutting it behind her. "I wouldn't be a very good mutant – or a thief, for that matter – if it did."   
  
Elizabeth eased back toward the sink, turning on the faucet and focusing on running her hands under the warm water. "What do you want?"   
  
She caught Teyla's reflection in the mirror out of the corner of her eye, her head tilting to the side in concern, and the irrational, illogical portion of Elizabeth’s brain was back again.   
  
"I just wanted to see if you were all right."  
  
Elizabeth attempted to match her tone to her response. "I'm fine."  
  
"You do not look it."  
  
"Well, thank you," she retorted, turning off the faucet. "That makes me feel much better."  
  
"Please give me the chance to explain about Cameron."  
  
Elizabeth froze, hands hovering above the sink. Soap suds circled the drain and she stared blankly at them, unfocused as she tried to formulate a response. She wasn’t prepared to hear this. She needed more time. Her mind screamed for her to tell Teyla _no, I don't want to know,_ but the words caught in her throat.   
  
"Acastus Kolya has a gift," Teyla began softly. "He can control people to a certain degree – persuade them to do what he wants." Elizabeth listened numbly, already aware of this ability from John's earlier debriefing.   
  
"It does not work on everyone. Some are more easily manipulated than others. You and I remain two of the few individuals that he has no sway over." Teyla pulled a towel from the rack and stepped forward, holding it out for Elizabeth who turned slowly to accept it.   
  
"You and I?"   
  
Teyla nodded, clasping her hands at her waist. "Your telepathy provides a strong mental barrier, and I... I have my own gifts."   
  
Elizabeth 's brow knit together in confusion. "What does phase-shifting through solid objects have to do with mental barriers?"   
  
Teyla's soft eyes suddenly sparkled, vaguely amused. "I have other talents, Elizabeth. Other mutations."   
  
"You what?"   
  
She waved a dismissive hand. "That's beside the point. Cameron – and Ronon – were not afforded the same gifts. It took him some time but Kolya eventually managed to gain control over them. He made them do things that they did not want to do. Kolya is a manipulative bastard and will do whatever is necessary to achieve his objectives." She paused, swallowing hard. "Have you ever seen a man bring a gun to his own head, protesting the entire way but unable to do anything to stop himself? To see a man kill himself though he has no true desire to do so? Kolya can control people that way. They are aware of what they are doing, but they feel compelled to follow Kolya's verbal commands anyway."   
  
"Cameron and Ronon were…” Elizabeth stumbled over the words, “under this persuasion?" She gripped the towel tightly, wringing it in her hands. It was nearly impossible for her to imagine men as independent as those two unable to exercise willpower. "What was he going to make them do?"   
  
Teyla released a soft breath, her response even softer. "Kill us all. Kill themselves. And they were fighting it; I could see it in their faces." She looked away, eyes suddenly brimming with unshed tears. She cleared her throat and visibly straightened. "I could see it in their eyes. I made a decision then, though it was not much of a choice. Either they had to die or we all would." Teyla's eyes met Elizabeth’s, her unwavering gaze piercing like a knife. "I did what I had to and I have lived with their blood on my hands every day since."   
  
Elizabeth could barely breathe.  
  
"Will you condemn me for it, too?"   
  


\-- x --

  
  
When Teyla finally left, Elizabeth was more unsettled than ever before. Catching up on every gut-wrenching event of the past two years had hollowed her out – and that was before her emotional conversation with Teyla. She barely registered John’s presence beside her as they made their way through the maze-like hallways of the _Nautical._ When they came to a fork, Elizabeth stared vacantly toward one side. Her room stood at the far end.  
  
“It isn’t all bad, you know,” John reassured her, concern for her clear on his face. “We’ve had some good times these last two years too.”  
  
Elizabeth nodded absently. “I’m sure.”   
  
He placed himself in her path before she could take a step and brush past him. When she finally met his eyes, the sympathy and understanding reflected there was unexpectedly welcome. She glanced quickly away, though, as shame nipped on its heels and her eyes flit from the floor to the wall and back again in an attempt to battle against the onset of tears.  
  
“Jesus, Elizabeth,” he breathed, and the next thing she knew John’s arms were pulling her flush against his chest, wrapping her in a tender embrace. At first she remained rigid, a solid wall against him, but when he only hugged her closer the fight against the inviting warmth proved to be too much. Slowly she molded herself against him, burying her head in his shoulder.   
  
She had been ripped – violently pulled – from another dimension and thrown into a future where everything she knew had been turned both upside down and inside out. Didn't she have a right to erupt, to buck against those things that she was unwilling to accept? And didn’t she have the right to accept comfort wherever she found it?  
  
She didn’t know how long they stayed that way but when she pulled back a corner of his shirt was damp with her tears.   
  
She laughed a little, embarrassed. “Sorry,” she muttered, trying to collect herself. “I, ah—”  
  
“You’re a sucker for a good hug,” he supplied, his voice softly amused. “It’s alright, I have women throw themselves at me all the time.”  
  
Despite the humor of his words, the tone of his voice was unnervingly intimate. The proximity of their bodies barely registered until her hand came to rest against his chest and her telepathy kicked into gear. She sensed a hundred things in that moment, the most significant of which was the shift in John’s demeanor.   
  
She glanced up at him and his eyes were dark and veiled with sympathy. She sensed another emotion, though, deep within him. A desire to protect her – a shockingly possessive need, actually – that was heavily shrouded by his normal visage. She didn’t know what she’d done to deserve such loyalty from him but the knowledge was darkly comforting.  
  
“John,” she started, her eyes drawn of their own accord to the sight of him licking his lips. Subtle but lingering, the warmth of the hug was slowly morphing into a different type of heat. But what scared her more than her own swing of emotions was that she could sense a similar progression reflected in him, mirroring back and offering up the potential to turn this simple moment into something explosive. “I, ah—”  
  
He pulled back abruptly, severing the contact and her mental link. “So, uh,” he stammered, shoving a hand through his hair roughly, “Bed? I mean, ah, you should go to bed. Sleep. You need sleep.”  
  
She cocked an eyebrow, suspended in a second of deliberation. But she didn’t let herself think too much, and for once she found the courage (or maybe more of that irrationality that had been seizing her lately) to listen to the voice in her head that she had silenced so many times before: the one that greedily thought about what she wanted before anything else.  
  
“Do you have anything to drink?” she asked, “Anything good? I hate cheap beer.”  
  
He glanced at her and she knew that he was watching the slight flutter of her hands as she wrung them together. The nervous tick was hard to control but she managed to still them and drop them to her sides.  
  
He met her eyes and nodded once, “Yeah, sure.”   
  


\-- x --

  
  
Their bodies crashed into the wall and Elizabeth barely had time to breathe as he devoured her with hungry and aggressive kisses. She tried to pull away to draw breath, but John’s body pressed hard against her and his hold around her waist was largely the only thing keeping her standing.   
  
For a fleeting moment she wondered when her rationality had abandoned her. This wasn’t something Elizabeth would normally do. She had known John Sheppard for an embarrassingly short amount of time and there was no reason for her to let it progress to this. Instead of letting go, though, instead of pushing him away like she should have – would have done under normal circumstances – she pulled him closer. Her left leg wrapped around him to draw his body flush against hers and she could feel the length of his arousal pressing against her inner thigh, spreading heat and desire straight through her.   
  
It hadn’t taken much for them to get to this point and she wasn’t even quite sure who had seduced whom. It had all happened so fast and, really, she didn’t have the air to breathe – much less the time to think.  
  
His broad shoulders and arms were solid beneath her grip as he pushed her up against the wall. It had been so long since she’d felt a man’s touch like this, hard muscles straining against her, deliciously warm breath on her mouth, hot and suffocating.  
  
The memory of Cameron pressing her against a wall in this same exact way floated unbidden through her mind but she pushed it away, chased away any thought of him by letting herself get drunk on the taste of John instead. There were similarities between the two men – she’d have to be deaf, dumb, and blind not to notice that – but while Cameron inspired comfort and safety, what she felt for John was another emotion entirely… something indefinable.  
  
Since the first moment they’d met she’d known he would be trouble for her. She usually didn’t let men get to her this easily, prided herself on her control and restraint, but there was something about John Sheppard that was darkly seductive, drawing her to him so quickly and without reason. She’d met her fair share of mutants in her life, sensed things about them that spoke volumes. With John though, here and now, he remained a mystery to her when any other man would have been an open book.   
  
But then again he seemed to know exactly what to do to get the perfect reaction out of her. When his mouth moved lower to suckle at the pulse of her neck her fingers turned white with strain against him, clutching desperately around the fabric of his shirt. He pried her hands away and moved lower again, capturing one of her breasts with his mouth through cloth, and somehow the sensation still sent her overboard, hardening her nipples and making her arch against him. His touch was shockingly erotic everywhere he went and she wondered how he knew exactly what to do, exactly how to touch her—  
  
The memory of the men’s clothing, the book in her room, the jokes he shared, the looks he would give her, all suddenly rushed back.   
  
She pulled away to put a sliver of distance between them and drew his face up to the point where she could meet his eyes. “We’ve done this before, haven’t we?”   
  
His breathless answer left her stricken for a second. “Yes.”  
  
Shock made her pause as a fresh wave of goose bumps washed over her skin. He must have sensed it, like he’d sensed every other twist of emotion she’d felt so far tonight, because he rested his forehead against hers, his breath playing warmth against her skin as he struggled to get himself under control.  
  
“How long? How often have we…” she trailed off, unable to complete the surreal question.  
  
“Too many times to count,” he whispered huskily, amused. “And you know I’m pretty good with numbers.”  
  
He nuzzled the sensitive spot at the base of her neck and, as wonderful as it was, Elizabeth felt herself tense against him. He turned to look up at her, desire hooded eyes slowly catching onto her shift in demeanor. He pulled back and she wondered if she looked like a deer caught in headlights, because the expression on his face was rapidly changing to one of concern.  
  
He sighed and muttered a curse under his breath. His eyes slid to the floor and he ran a hand through his hair in frustration as he edged away from her. When he finally looked up, his expression was carefully controlled. “Tell me to leave and I will.”  
  
Elizabeth paused. Her rational mind was a force to be reckoned with on any given day, but right now Elizabeth could look at John and _sense_ the thrum of desire he had for her. Beneath the surface, though, she could see that his feelings ran far deeper than a simple physical attraction. If they’d been together as John had claimed, then whatever the extent of their relationship, she was certain that connection between them was serious. She didn’t know if that made this simpler or more complicated, but one thing she did know was that she wanted this – wanted him. And for once she wasn’t going to second-guess herself.   
  
Grabbing a handful of his shirt she drew his mouth back to hers, fingers burying deep and threading through his thick hair to drag him even closer. He immediately sank back against her, pressing her into the wall and resuming the pace of delirious kisses as if there had been no pause for her emotional introspection.   
  
“How long?” she gasped between kisses. “How long have we been together?”  
  
He lifted her body off the ground, though Elizabeth was barely aware of it until he was settling her on top of the nearby oak chest, his rough hands seizing hers and pinning them against the wall beside her head. “Little over a year,” he whispered hoarsely as her legs wrapped around his waist, body slanting nearly off the edge as she ground herself against his erection. He groaned a guttural sound laced with desperate desire. “Fuck, Elizabeth.”   
  
She was already wet with anticipation and she needed to touch him. Wrenching her wrists from his grasp, she brushed a hand firmly against his fly, finally able to distract him enough to break his endless assault of kisses and give her room to move. Her hands trembled with a thirst for skin and she pulled frantically at the button of his jeans. He surged against her with a broken moan before pulling away violently.  
  
“Naked,” he demanded, stripping her of her pants, tugging them off before insinuating himself back between her legs.  
  
He made his way down her body to nuzzle the skin above her panties, teasing her with the scrape of his stubble against her overly-sensitive skin. It sent a rush of heat through her and she couldn’t keep her eyes from slipping shut, humming against the sensation. The fabric of her underwear shifted under his hands and she could barely breathe when his finger slipped beneath the elastic to graze over her clit.  
  
They both groaned.   
  
Her hands threaded through his hair and she breathed his name as a plea, “God, John.”  
  
He looked up at her and grinned, a smug bastard grin that had no right to look as sexy as it did. “Yes, Elizabeth?”  
  
She glared at him and tried to keep her voice steady as his fingers continued to tease her with rhythmic strokes. “I-I…” Her breath hitched and she closed her eyes again. “You still have all of your clothes on.”  
  
He tugged at her panties and despite her broken protests, when he removed his hands from her body she arched up to accommodate him, slipping the fabric from her completely. The oak chest was cold beneath her but she was barely aware of anything other than the warmth of him. As he resettled between her legs, his hands blazed a path from her calves to her waist, finally coming to rest on her inner thighs. He spread her legs apart and her eyes fluttered open when she felt him look up at her, connecting for a moment of stillness before the storm. Searching his face she thought she caught a glimpse of his alter ego, the pure desire – the need to take her, have her – was primal and written plainly across his face.  
  
Abruptly, she felt his reptilian side whispering inside her head.  
  
 _Mine._  
  
The fierce claim of possession both alarmed and aroused her, and she wondered if it was her imagination when she saw his eyes flash yellow in the darkness. But then his head swooped down and buried his face between her legs, and she lost all ability to think.   
  
The first contact was just a brush of lips against her curls, light teasing kisses that caused her hands to fall to his head again, threading through his hair, pressing herself into him. Then he nuzzled her, trailing his tongue along the line of her core. She gasped, a spike of uncontrolled euphoria rising to dizzying heights.  
  
“John! Jesus…” Wildly her hips thrust up for more and she slipped one leg over his shoulder.   
  
In tiny circles and tantalizing strokes he lapped at her clit, rolled her around on his tongue like candy, nipped ever so lightly. God, his tongue. The swirl of it was a devious thing and he already had her dangerously close to the edge. She arched her back, trying to bite back the sob of want that rose in her throat as he worked, but every time he penetrated her it became harder and harder to breathe. Her fingers moved away from where they were buried in his hair, instead twisting firmly into his shirt in an effort to maintain command of her body even as it spiraled out of control.   
  
She trembled above him and around him, her head thrashing against the wall, her hands gripping him so tightly that her knuckles turned white. She moaned his name, incoherent and breathless, and that just made him suckle harder, faster, until she came with a release that robbed her of breath. A choked cry escaped her as she seized around him.  
  
He gave her no time to recover, instead moving up to greedily take her mouth. She could taste herself on his lips and the press of his erection against her naked thigh had her instantaneously – impossibly – aroused again. She managed to unbuckle his belt and slip her hand underneath his waistband, seizing him firmly in her palm. He hissed and the sound of his ragged breath alone had her delirious. She handled him with rhythmic strokes until she had him driving into her hand, the oak chest pounding loudly against the wall with each thrust.   
  
“No, wait,” he gasped, “inside you. I want…”  
  
He trailed off with a groan but she knew what he wanted. She withdrew her hand and his eyes rolled back as she kissed away the protests, drawing him with her as she slid off the desk and led them to the bed. When she collapsed on the mattress, sprawling on her back, he wasted no time stripping off his clothes and crawling his way toward her.  
  
She couldn’t study his body in the dim light but she had little time to lament the loss before he moved to settle himself on top of her and she decided that she’d much prefer to discover him by touch. She hooked a leg around his hips, lips chasing lips as their bodies twined together. Her first thought was that his chest was rougher than she’d expected, but then his eyes flickered up and caught hers.   
  
The hint of yellow was undeniable now.   
  
It should have alarmed her, to see his alter ego so close to the surface while she was this close to him, but somehow… it didn’t.   
  
_Mine._  
  
She didn’t even know she was reaching out with her telepathy until she felt more than just a whisper of the beast inside John’s head. It reacted with surprising familiarity to her touch, peeling away layers of animosity to reveal something that thrived on instinct and need alone. It wasn’t evil – just carnal. Right now its baser instincts were focused on her, her skin and the feel of her. It didn’t want to hurt her, she knew. Quite the opposite in fact.  
  
She traced her thumb across his lips and locked eyes with him again. The beast within him looked back, mixed with the man that was John Sheppard. _Both_ stared back at her. It was in that moment of clarity that Elizabeth reached up to kiss him again, completely accepting.   
  
In the calm that followed, her movements turned explorative, and she set her aim to memorize the scars and rough skin on his chest with her hands, cataloguing the dips and curves, tracing a deep claw mark that had cut across his left side.   
  
“You feel so good,” he whispered in a low voice, “so . . .” he trailed off, mumbling incoherently as he suckled on her breast, drawing her hard nipples between his lips and teasing her with his tongue.   
  
Elizabeth began to feel her body wind taut again. “Please, John. Please.”  
  
He leaned over to kiss her, sucking on her lower lip as he pulled away and answered huskily, “God, yes.”   
  
His hand brushed along the swell of her hip as they drew each other into another breathless kiss, and then he slipped inside her, warm and hard and so slowly that Elizabeth gasped against his mouth. She had expected him to take her hard and fast – expected that the foreplay alone would have sent him rushing for release. Or at least, his beast would be bruising and dogged with his needs. Instead he surprised her with tenderness and an achingly slow pace. Too slow. The thrust of his hips as he first worked in and out of her was enough to have her fingernails digging into him, desperately wanting more. She wrapped around him tighter and moved against him harder in an effort to force him to increase his speed.   
  
He didn’t. She would have known what to do with fast and hard. She could have responded with familiarity to a fuck. Instead, his slow and steady thrust had her frustrated and needy within seconds and she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out in frustration.   
  
“John,” she moaned. “God, please faster.”  
  
“Shh,” he whispered, eyes closed in fierce concentration as he continued his slow rhythm. “This is better.”   
  
He bent to nuzzle her neck again, mumbling mindless words that she couldn’t make out. She tilted her head back to allow him better access even as she squirmed and panted beneath him, begging for more friction, demanding it with a whimper of his name. Her whole body flushed from the heat they were creating and suddenly she realized what this was.   
  
This was making love.   
  
The realization wasn’t as shocking as it should have been.  
  
As he pushed in and out of her, his thrust growing stronger, driving her back into the sheets, she forced her eyes to stay open even as his clenched shut, and watched him as they found release together. For the first time since meeting him she was absolutely sure that she was seeing the real John Sheppard.  
  
And just as much as his alter ego had claimed possession of her… she intuitively realized that he must have also been hers.  
  
\-- 


	7. Chapter 7

\--  
  
Elizabeth’s eyes snapped open well before dawn, heart pounding in her chest and a choked gasp on her lips. Even though John’s body was curled tightly around her with the solid warmth at her back, she couldn’t stop from bolting upright, grasping the sheets with shaking hands and struggling against their cocoon.   
  
Her movements jarred John instantly awake and he barely managed to catch himself before spilling off the bed. “Jesus, Elizabeth.”  
  
Haunted by images too elusive and distorted to name, she barely heard him. The only thing she could focus on was the overwhelming knowledge that something terrible was happening. She sensed it coil in her stomach, blocking out any other sensation until all that was left was the certainty of overwhelming destruction – the same fate she had earlier been so sure was fast approaching. Now she was positive it had already arrived.  
  
Her entire body pulled taut and she lunged from the bed, tossing the sheets aside in a frenzied quest to find clothing. “We have to get up,” she explained distractedly, fighting panic. “We’re in trouble.”  
  
John looked on with bleary concern as she rummaged through the pile of clothing on the floor in search of her own. While she dressed like a whirlwind, John attempted to play catch up.  
  
“Whoa, wait a second, Elizabeth,” he urged, catching her by the arm as his feet hit the floor. “Slow down. What’s going on?”  
  
Sucking in a deep breath, she forced herself under control. “Trouble,” she replied simply. “Just trust me, John. I can’t explain it but we have to find the others.”  
  
His eyes narrowed, considering her. Only a moment later he nodded briefly and began dressing beside her, her urgency spurring his movements. Annoyed when she couldn’t find her own sweater, Elizabeth quickly grabbed a large black t-shirt from one of his drawers and slipped it on. It was a clear sign of how preoccupied she was that she gave no thought to wearing John’s clothing and the significance it would convey to the others.   
  
Just before they left his room, John turned back to retrieve a 9mm handgun from the bedside table. “Trouble, right?” he answered her pointed look. “There’s more in the armory down near the steering station.”  
  
Elizabeth paused. “You have an armory onboard?”  
  
“We’ve got a helicopter too.”   
  
He’d said it in jest, but Elizabeth quickly catalogued the piece of information, adding it to list of potential resources to be used later if necessary.  
  
“What’s going on, Elizabeth?” John asked, obviously trying to read her thoughts. “There’s nobody aboard the _Nautical_ except our people… right?”  
  
A shiver ran up her spine. “I’m not so sure about that.”  
  
John stilled, her statement evoking both apprehension and something far more threatening in his features. He glanced around the bedroom, quickly locating his radio. “Teyla, this is Sheppard, come in.”  
  
No answer came, though that didn’t surprise her. She imagined the skeleton crew of the _Nautical_ didn’t expect much radio chatter at 4 a.m., though John continued to attempt to contact everyone from Lorne to Carson to Radek. No one responded to his hails.   
  
“There’s no use,” Elizabeth insisted.   
  
“Either no one on this ship is near their radio or our communication has been blocked,” John concluded grimly. “Are you sure there are others on board?” She didn’t answer, but then John didn’t really give her the chance, more focused on ejecting the magazine of his pistol to check for ammo. As he slammed the clip back into place he handed it to Elizabeth. “Take it, but stay behind me at all times. I’ll take lead.”   
  
Before she could tell him just exactly what she thought of putting the trained, armed FBI agent behind the unarmed, cocky male as they made their way into danger, she caught sight of him. For the third time in as many days Elizabeth watched while John Sheppard unleashed his mutation. Though not as shocking as the previous two occasions she’d witnessed the transformation, this time it was different. This time he held nothing back, adopting the full visage of his reptilian side – prominent bluish-grey scales, claws sharp enough to slice through metal and haunting yellow eyes.   
  
“I’ll take lead,” he insisted, and this time Elizabeth didn’t want to argue.  
  
He surged past her and hurried down the corridor. Trailing after him, Elizabeth tried to focus but the stillness and eerie silence of the ship only served to overpower her mind with a dark sense of foreboding. When he abruptly halted in front of her, nostrils flaring, she pulled up behind him and glanced around. She picked up nothing – not even with her paranormal abilities – but John clearly worked on another level entirely.  
  
A moment before the gunfire broke out John slammed into Elizabeth and sent them both careening through the door of a nearby room. The force of the impact had them tumbling into the darkened chamber, the gun slipping from her hand as both crashed to the floor. She barely had time to recover before he was up again and slamming the door closed behind them.  
  
Elizabeth groaned at the spike of pain that lanced up her side, but when John’s hollowed eyes met hers she instantly fell silent. Standing slowly, cradling her left arm against her abdomen, she held her breath and strained her ears for any sound. Hearing nothing she started for her gun that had skidded to the far corner, but before she could make her way to it, she heard the faint sound of footsteps in the hall.  
  
She ducked and dove for cover just as a smattering of bullets pierced the thin wood of the door, missing her head by millimeters. As she pressed her back against the nearest wall she glanced around and suddenly realized that she couldn’t see John. Searching methodically through the pitch back of the room she could only make out the shape of furniture and her weapon resting eight feet away on the floor, taunting her with her inability to reach it.   
  
The door was kicked inward and Elizabeth barely managed to duck behind a nearby sofa – halfway between the wall and her gun – and slipped herself into the shadows before the trickle of light spilled into room and she sensed the heavy presence of her pursuers. Her heart was pounding so loudly she was certain whoever was searching for her could hear it, and though she struggled valiantly to control her breathing it was still as loud as thunder to her own ears. She crouched behind her make-shift cover and listened as footsteps approached her.  
  
When she chanced a quick glance around the furniture, all she could make out was dark clothing and guns… very large guns. Taking a chance, she waited a beat for the nearest head to turn, then crept cautiously toward her fallen weapon. The moment her palm brushed the butt of her pistol, the click of a hammer cocking made her freeze in her tracks.   
  
“I wouldn’t do that,” a masculine voice taunted. “Stand up and turn around.”  
  
She silently obeyed, rising slowly and turning to face her assailant and the two men that stood behind him shadowed in the doorway. Squinting into the darkness she tried to make out their faces. Two were complete strangers but the other… the other was somehow familiar. She couldn’t remember his name but she did know two things for certain: he was FBI and he knew her.   
  
As Elizabeth spread her hands wide the two men in the back moved into position to flank her, effectively rendering her surrounded. She tried to keep her voice steady as she addressed the one with the gun pointed at her. “What are you doing here, agent?”  
  
He barked a harsh laugh. “Don’t pull that ‘agent’ crap with me, Elizabeth. It never worked before, why would you think it would work now?”  
  
The way he said her name belied a familiarity that she couldn’t reciprocate. She couldn’t even remember his name for God’s sake. She glanced from one man to another, noting the sheer repulsion clearly etched on each face and realized the hostility stemmed from an intimate hatred. These men knew her and hated her.  
  
“What do you want?”  
  
“Simple, really,” the agent replied, raising his weapon to level it at her head. “We want all mutants to die.”  
  
She watched in shock as his finger tightened on the trigger, but before she even had time to flinch against the sound that threatened to end her life, she was suddenly knocked to the ground from behind. She recovered in time to catch a glimpse of a large blur darting away from her and moving across the ceiling – _John_ – and then the door unexpectedly slammed shut, blocking out the light from the corridor and throwing the room into darkness.   
  
“What the hell?” one of the assailants shouted.   
  
And then someone started screaming.  
  
A moment later, another man’s harsh cry echoed after and then another. The bloodcurdling screams emanated from every direction. While the darkness prevented even the vaguest forms from being seen, she didn’t dare move an inch because she was paralyzed by the images that flashed through her mind as the sounds of bodies crashing and flesh tearing apart penetrated her conscious. It overwhelmed her with the stench and presence of death.  
  
When the chaos finally stopped and the door creaked open, a sliver of light revealed John standing shockingly close to her, his face and clothing stained with blood – the blood of the three men now lying broken in a heap on the floor. He offered her gun to her with no more than a grunt before he was looking over his shoulder, collecting weapons from their fallen attackers.   
  
This was the man she had just bedded.   
  
John turned and reached for her but she couldn’t make herself take his hand. “C’mon,” he urged gruffly, again offering his hand. When she fall back away from him he froze, eyes boring straight through her, sensing her flash of fear. Then slowly, as she watched him tentatively approach her, hints of _John_ began to emerge. The beast receded with the blue flesh, but even when he blinked at her with normal, hazel eyes, Elizabeth still needed a moment to regroup.  
  
“You all right?” he whispered softly, his face etched with concern.  
  
She rose from the ground slowly, too overwhelmed to lie. “No.”  
  
He released a breath, his hand coming to settle on her forearm. “You will be,” he promised.  
  
Before she had time to recover they were off again, running down the hallway in search of the others.  
  
\--   
  
They were halfway to the infirmary when they spotted Carson and Zelenka frantically propelling Rodney down the corridor in a wheelchair. Both the Czech and the doctor seemed intent on getting him out of the area as soon as possible, but all three skidded to a halt when they saw John and Elizabeth.  
  
“Oh, thank God!” Carson heaved a giant sigh of relief. “I thought we’d have to search the entire ship for you. We heard gunfire!”  
  
John nodded. “We’ve got unwelcome guests aboard. Have you seen Teyla? Or Lorne and the rest of the crew?”  
  
Radek shook his head. “Carson and I were going over the latest results for Rodney’s genome experiment when we heard the commotion. We did not know what it was at first.”  
  
Slumped in white scrubs and wrapped in a blue robe, Rodney still managed to look threatening as he shot them both an irritated glare. “I had already pushed myself halfway to the labs before these two came bumbling out to get me. I was near comatose and I was more observant than either of them! Not surprising, really—”  
  
“No one’s answering their radio,” John cut in. “Any guess as to why?”  
  
“Yes, yes, we’ve tried that already,” Zelenka answered. “They’ve blocked all frequencies.”  
  
“Can you fix it?”   
  
Rodney looked offended. “Why are you asking him? I’m sitting right here. I’m not dead yet, you know.”  
  
John didn’t have time to argue about this. “Can you fix it, Rodney?”  
  
“No, no. I can construct a module for interfacing antiquated Russian particle generators with nanite technology, but radios,” he deadpanned, “now _those_ I have problems with.”  
  
“You know, arrogance doesn’t really become you.”  
  
“I’m always arrogant.”  
  
“My point exactly.”  
  
“Gentlemen,” Elizabeth interrupted. “Focus please. What are our options?”  
  
John sighed, turning to Zelenka and Carson. “Find some place to hole up with Rodney for a while. Block all the doors and when you get the radios working, contact me through channel two. I’m going to go find the rest of our people.” Elizabeth started to add something but John immediately shook his head. “I need you to chaperone these three,” he replied lightly, tossing her an extra gun. “I’ll be fine on my own.”  
  
“John,” she began and then stopped when she realized that she would just slow him down, the memory of that darkened room still fresh in her mind’s eye. “Just… stay safe.”  
  
He nodded and disappeared down the corridor.  
  
Elizabeth turned back to the three scientists, trying to project some measure of control. “All right gentlemen, where do we go from here?”  
  
\--  
  
From the porthole she could just make out another vessel off the starboard side of the _Nautical._ Though far smaller and much less extravagant than their own ship, it was still large enough to carry fifty or more people - more than enough to overwhelm their current crew of a dozen. Even with her telepathy, Elizabeth was unable to pinpoint the exact number that had already boarded. Usually she would have been able to be specific, but right now something, or someone, was interfering with her abilities – muddling her senses until they offered only distorted and hazy images. She tried harder to focus but was rewarded with only an increasing headache and a vague sense of danger, neither of which was helpful – she didn’t need to be a psychic to know they were in trouble.  
  
She turned away from the window and back to Rodney, frail and as white as ghost yet still bustling his nimble fingers over some piece of electronic equipment at the frantic pace of a man with a mission. “How’s it coming?  
  
“It’d be coming along better if you would stop interrupting me,” he snapped in annoyance, before freezing for a moment and shifting to look up at her uncomfortably. “Sorry, I’m just… it’ll be another few seconds.”  
  
Elizabeth nodded, surprised at the apology. She had the feeling that Rodney wasn’t the type of man to apologize to anyone, especially over something as trivial as displaying irritation. She glanced back at Zelenka who was working at the opposite end of the room and then over to Carson. The Scotsman looked like he felt just as useless as she did.   
  
“There,” Rodney announced, hitting a few buttons and switching on the radio. “Sheppard, this is McKay. Can you hear me?”  
  
Whatever response John had, Elizabeth never heard it. Her attention snapped to the door, sensing someone behind it. Even so, she still didn’t have enough of a warning.   
  
Bullets bit through the door and Elizabeth dove behind the nearest workbench, just managing to snag Carson by the arm and drag him down with her before an assault team spilled in from the hallway, methodically moving through the room with their probing fire. In the next few moments chaos reigned, shouting and gunfire filling her ears and demonstrating beyond a shadow of a doubt that that they were outnumbered by both men and guns.   
  
“Get back!” Rodney shouted. “Get behind that door now!”  
  
“Go, go!” Elizabeth urged the others, ducking low. She couldn’t see much but she still fired off a few rounds hoping for the off chance that she would be lucky enough to slow at least one of them. From her peripheral vision she caught sight of Carson and Zelenka slipping behind the small door at the back of the room in response to Rodney’s frantic orders.   
  
“Elizabeth!” Rodney shouted. “You need to get out of this cabin, I’ll handle them!”  
  
Elizabeth tossed him a wild look and started for him at a low crouch. “What do you mean you’ll handle them?”  
  
A bullet pierced her left shoulder, grazing her skin with a fiery burst of pain. She clenched her jaw tightly to hold back a scream and struggled to continue her path toward Rodney. She didn’t know how she was going to lift him from that wheelchair with a useless shoulder, but she was damn well not going to leave him behind.  
  
A second later the glass of the portholes shattered inward and the force of the ocean surged into the room.   
  
The first blast of water knocked her to her knees and soaked her within seconds. As she struggled to regain her footing the sting of the salt water against her fresh wound didn’t help matters, though she guessed the cold would numb her soon enough. She gripped her shoulder tightly to try to control the bleeding and turned to find McKay standing on firm legs, his eyes rolled back in his head, glazed with thick white film, and his arms spread wide. Around him the water moved under his command as if an extension of his body, and when he waived his hands toward their assailants, the water followed suit. It broke through the shattered windows and jetting out like steel rods aimed directly toward the goons. Despite his earlier weakness Rodney looked strong and sure. Overwhelmed by the sheer potency of his abilities, it took her a few seconds to register the rising water level.   
  
All too soon the expanding water in the small confined cabin became alarming, brushing at her hips as it continued to rise. Even when their attackers began to retreat, shouting and falling over themselves as they fled the onslaught, Rodney didn’t pause or even seem to notice.   
  
“Rodney!” she screamed, “you have to stop!”  
  
He didn’t acknowledge her.  
  
“Rodney!” she shouted again, the water now quickly rising to her chest. “That’s enough! They’re gone!”  
  
She forced her way toward him, the swell of the water making every step a battle. When she was finally close enough to reach him she grabbed his robe and jerked hard, the contact enough to break his spell. His head snapped forward, his eyes cleared to crystal-blue and the water abruptly stopped pouring in from the windows.   
  
In its wake she stood shoulder-deep in seawater, staring at Rodney with a touch of awe. “Wow.”  
  
He grinned at her smugly and then a second later his knees buckled under him. She called out his name in horror and quickly lunged forward to grab him before he sunk under completely. Using the collar of his clothing she dragged him to her and propped his head on her good shoulder to keep him from slipping under again.   
  
“Carson!” she shouted frantically, trying to pivot to see what was keeping them. When she was able to get a good look at the back of the room she saw through the small glass pane that both Carson and Zelenka were still on the other side of the door. “We need help in here!”  
  
“We’re trying!” Carson shouted back, shoving his shoulder hard against the door. It barely budged against the weight of the water pressing into it from the cabin. “Give us a minute!”  
  
She released a forceful breath, turning her attention back to Rodney. “You all right?”  
  
He sputtered water from his mouth, his eyes fluttering shut in exhaustion. “Never better. You?”  
  
Not liking the tone she was hearing, Elizabeth hastened to reassure him. “I’ve had better days, but I’m fine for now. You just need to relax. You’ll float if you relax. Do you hear me? I’ve got you. We’re going to get you out of this.”  
  
She was already shivering against the freezing cold and her heart was pounding in her ears, echoed by the throbbing sting in her arm. Still, she was willing to ignore that and focus on how grateful she was that he was coherent enough to have a conversation with her. She tried to keep her voice calm, “That was quite a display back there.”  
  
He scoffed lightly. “Please, that was nothing. A few months ago I could have raised a tidal wave. Now _that_ was something.”  
  
“You’re going to have to show me that sometime.”  
  
Rodney paused for a moment and then blinked up at her. “That’s never going to happen again. Not now.”  
  
“Rodney—”  
  
“No, no. I’m not looking for sympathy. It’s just the truth. I’ve… I’ve come to accept that.”   
  
The pauses between his words were growing longer and the strain in his voice was becoming more apparent. Elizabeth suspected the use of his powers had been too much for his weakened body to handle.   
  
She drifted them closer to the door at the back of the room, tightening her hold on him. When she glanced down again to see his eyes drawn completely closed she had to fight hard to battle back the rising sense of panic.  
  
“Rodney? Rodney!”   
  
His eyes fluttered open, his body jerking against her. “What? I’m here.”  
  
“Just stay awake,” she breathed anxiously. She turned back to the back door. “Carson, get in here now!”   
  
“You want to know the funny thing?” Rodney whispered faintly. “Well, not funny ha ha. More like irony. These last two years have been the best years of my life. Isn’t that just... incredibly pathetic?”   
  
“Rodney,” she chided softly, trying not to stumble over her words, “don’t... Just stay quiet. Save your strength.”   
  
“But you have to stop it from repeating,” he continued stubbornly. “Make sure you stop this from ever happening again. Do that for all of us.” He coughed and more water sputtered from his mouth. He grimaced against some unknown pain. “You’re our last chance.”  
  
And then slowly while she held him, Rodney McKay grew weaker and weaker until he became unnaturally silent. Letting his eyes drift closed, Rodney sighed before his head lulled against her. By the time Radek and Carson had begun to break their way through the barrier, Elizabeth was pressing her fingers to his neck in search for a pulse.  
  
She squeezed her eyes shut and turned her face to the ceiling, letting her head sink further into the stinging cold of the saltwater.  
  
Rodney McKay had just died in her arms.  
  
\--  
  
When the water had flooded away from the small cabin through the doors pried open, she was deposited in a wet heap on the floor, Rodney’s freezing cold body lying limply across her. Carson approached them quickly and crouched down beside Rodney, only a moment later devastated eyes briefly meeting hers before looking up to Radek and shaking his head slightly. The painful message was conveyed without any words spoken.   
  
Elizabeth tore her eyes away as Radek began to pry her tightly clenched hands loose from Rodney’s clothing. As they peeled away his body and moved it to the side, covering him with Carson’s jacket, she felt colder than she had while clinging to him. A surge of grief swelled inside of her, surprising in its intensity when only days ago she had felt nothing more than reluctant tolerance for the man. Having someone die in her arms made a difference though. And he’d done it to protect her, undoubtedly knowing that it would cost him too much. She wished now she could take back every uncharitable thing she had ever thought about Rodney McKay.   
  
But whatever sense of loss she felt was nothing compared to what Carson and Radek battled against. While her own emotions ebbed and flowed with numbness, soon she realized that part of her despair came from the feelings of the others, the gut wrenching sorrow that seeped from their hearts and into her mind. The next few minutes were a blur and she scooted herself into a corner of the room and folded herself into a tight ball, unable to meet the eyes of the two grief-stricken men as they did what they could to secure the area.   
  
When Carson approached her with a blanket, wrapped it around her and set about tending to her shoulder, she marveled at his ability to concentrate on such a trivial thing when she knew what exactly was going through his head. There were times when she recognized her telepathy as a boon – this was not one of them.  
  
When John finally arrived with Teyla and several other men she didn’t recognize, the spike of despair in the room was suddenly too much for her. She turned away, quietly making her way to the back of the cabin, escaping through the door in an attempt to find a way to collect herself. Even so, the thick swell of emotions bled through the walls to suffocate her.   
  
When John eventually approached her, she couldn’t meet his eyes. Pain always had a will of its own and her telepathy bowed to it. She cradled her wounded arm against her stomach, settling back against the wall as she slid down to the ground.  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
“There was nothing you cold have done, Elizabeth,” he said, shaking his head and glancing away. His eyes hardened. “C’mon, we’ve got to get out of here. We’re still in the middle of a crisis. I’ll… we’ll deal with the rest later. Not now.”  
  
She nodded faintly. “How many more are there?”  
  
“Not too many left,” he answered confidently. “We’ll handle them, but we’ve got to get you out of here first.”  
  
She glanced up at him. “What?”  
  
“Zelenka’s going to send you back now,” he answered. “We can’t risk you staying here any longer.”  
  
“But,” she protested, “I haven’t… I don’t—”  
  
“I know,” he replied, shoving a hand through his hair in frustration. He glanced at her, taking in her pain and confusion and his demeanor softened instantly. He slowly moved to settle down beside her, closing his eyes and resting his head against the wall in a candid moment of emotional exhaustion. “But we can’t take the chance,” he added softly.  
  
She nodded again, pulling her blanket more tightly around her. He sensed her shiver and moved to wrap an arm cautiously over her shoulder, dragging her closer, concern with her injury outweighed only by the desperate need to provide some small modicum of comfort.   
  
When she turned her head away from him he caught her chin with his hand and lightly tugged until their eyes met. He leaned forward to capture her lips in a kiss that began bittersweet and lingered, and whether or not he was doing it to offer comfort or to seek it – it didn’t matter. She stretched her body to reach his and let herself get lost in the embrace.   
  
They broke apart when Zelenka entered the room, conspicuously dabbing at red-rimmed eyes. He cleared his throat, hesitating at the threshold. “I can come back later—”  
  
“No,” John said, sighing as he slowly drew away and stood. “We have to get her back now. We can’t waste anymore time.”  
  
“What about you?” Elizabeth asked. “Those men? They’re still—”  
  
“We’ll handle them,” John assured her. “Don’t worry about us. Just get back.”  
  
Rodney’s words echoed in her ears. _Make sure you stop this from ever happening again._ When John offered her a hand she took hold and let him draw her to her feet, though neither made an immediate move to let go.   
  
“What will happen?” she asked. “How does this work?”   
  
Zelenka could barely maintain eye-contact. “From your perspective it should be a very simple matter. I’ll hold your hands and one second you will be here, and the next you will be back to your original timeline… hopefully. It is more complicated than that, but nothing you need to concern yourself with. More to do with disrupting the time-space continuum and folding it over on itself to create an overlapping temporal interface—”  
  
“Nothing you need to concern yourself with,” John spoke over the top of him. “Everything should be simple for you. Hopefully.”  
  
Normally, she would have made a comment about the ‘hopefully’ but with all that had happened since she arrived, she simply couldn’t bring herself to voice the complaint. Instead she looked to John and nodded. “What about the, um, other me? The one from this timeline?”  
  
“She’ll be fine,” he answered quickly. “She’ll be here the second you go back.”  
  
Teyla quietly entered the room, letting her eyes briefly slip to John and Elizabeth’s clasped hands. “You must hurry. We hear others approaching not far from here.”  
  
John nodded briskly. “I’ll be there in a second. Secure the perimeter.”  
  
Teyla turned to leave but Elizabeth called softly to stop her. “Teyla?” The woman hesitated at the threshold, looking back at Elizabeth over her shoulder. “Just… uh, tell everyone goodbye for me. Stay safe.”  
  
She nodded, her eyes softening. “You too, Elizabeth.”  
  
As Teyla made her way out of the room John tugged Elizabeth closer to draw her into one last kiss, one that would have made her toes curl at any other time. Now, though, absurdly it just made her want to cry. When he pulled back Zelenka reluctantly walked forward and awkwardly reached for her hands.  
  
She locked gazes with Radek. “There’s no place like home, right?”  
  
The comment garnered her a weak smile and then he instructed her to close her eyes.  
  
Nothing happened for a long beat, and then she began to hear the voices. The same chorus of distorted screams that had assaulted her outside the factory had returned and started to rise, drowning out everything until she was nearly overpowered by them. Zelenka couldn’t have been more wrong. The transition was painful and exhausting and when her legs finally buckled she was vaguely aware of his hold on her tightening.   
  
She fought for breath, tried to maintain some semblance of sanity…  
  
… and then passed out completely into a sea of utter darkness.   
  
\--   
Fin.


End file.
